


The Man That Never Was

by twistedthicket1



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dad Grillby, Dad W. D. Gaster, Dadster, Fluff and Angst, Grillby's Backstory, M/M, PTSD, Post-Pacifist Route, Pre-Accident W. D. Gaster, Science Experiments, Time Travel, Violence, War, War!Gaster, probably gonna be sad in a few places sorry guys, romance but likely no smut sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-06-07 12:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6803500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedthicket1/pseuds/twistedthicket1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wakes up, and realizes that he's whole. This is rather impossible, as he's been spending the past countless years scattered across space and time. Well, he can definitely admit that he's had better outcomes from his experiments."</p><p>A look into the life of W.D Gaster, and how past actions have unintended consequences. Some are good, some are bad, but all were made by a man who technically shouldn't exist. <br/>Time travel, it does some weird things to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm a huge nerd for Gaster, and a huge nerd for Grillby as a character. Also, I have a lot of sad headcanons. 
> 
> This is where this fic comes in. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and the first real chapter should be up pretty soon. For now, a preface~

 

Somewhere in the darkness, a shadow breathed. He inhaled as if he had forgotten the sensation of it, and were now rusty. It was as if the motion of it was foreign.  Half forgotten, now discarded, much like the shadow itself, the breaths were weak and struggling.

The air had never tasted so sweet to him, despite it all.

 

He blinked his way out of the darkness, slowly taking in the feeling of being solid and real once more. Somewhere, water dripped steadily, trickling in a rhythmic melody that dotted against his bones. It was a drumbeat, thrumming against him in syncopated distraction. Out of the corner of his eye and all around him, stone prevailed. It was a cool blue-grey, interspersed here and there by pale blue crystal. The stones seemed to glow gently, a pulsing and gentle light.

 

W.D Gaster had no idea where he was, or how he had appeared. He only knew that somehow, he existed once more. A broken marionette, lying in an empty cavern somewhere in Waterfall, merely trying to remember. Like an aching tooth, the sensation of lost time, of lost memories dragged through his skull. It hurt, and your broken body shuddered against the physical sensation of pain.

 

he hadn’t felt anything like it before in so long, it was almost a welcome song.

 

Somewhere in the distance, footsteps approached, echoing across the stone of the Underground.

 

His eyes slipped closed, and someone at once familiar and foreign called his name. He was already falling to pieces. 


	2. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A glance into the events that lead to the Monster-Human war, and Gaster meets Grillby.   
> So I've outlined this, and this fic should be around 20 chapters, if plans go well. Knowing me though, it might become longer. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think as the fic progresses ^_^

 

 

**SAVE FILE ONE: LOG DATE: UNKNOWN, YEAR- (REDACTED)**

It hadn’t always been this way. If he strained his memories back far enough, there was a time when he could remember having no worries or fear. He was young then, and perhaps a bit foolish. His parents often spoke highly of him, spoke highly about his brother and two sisters. It was a large family, and everyone in the Gaster household were exemplary in their field of study.

 

His sister, Calibri, was the eldest. he often looked up to her, and wanted to be her. She was clever, far cleverer than most other Monsters her age. Her room had always been filled with parchments and texts, and she chased after knowledge about Monster and Humankind with a burning-bright enthusiasm. She could do vast sums in her head, could tell him just how many decimal points there were to an equation he gave her. Their mother used to say that if it weren’t for the way the world was, Calibri would have been accepted into any school or institution the Humans could provide. As it was, she was the shining gem of the Monster schools she attended.

 

He liked the fact that other skeletons told him that his brains were similar to his older sister’s, he liked the fact that in their eyes, he was smart. Like a peacock, he’d preen and flush whenever his father brushed the top of his skull with love, or when he could help his brother with his homework, even though he was younger.

 

He grew up never questioning his own intelligence, and perhaps as a by-product grew up to be a proud, if somewhat quiet creature. If he knew what he wanted, he would reach for it with capable, skeletal fingers. It was in this way that he thought he understood the world, and thought he understood its potential. There was so much to learn from the Earth, and so much to take from it. The possibilities seemed endless to him, and he’d stay up late in his bed, colouring out decorative blueprints and diagrams.

 

He didn’t want them to be stolen, his ideas were important! Or at least, someday would be. His thoughts were his own, the manifestation of his being! So he made a language, a secret code that only he and his family knew. It became something of an affectionate joke, an amusing pastime between him and his siblings.

 

Helvetica even admitted that it made sense for such a brilliant little brother to come up with such a ridiculous code. She had smiled as she had said it, and he had taken it with pride.

 

They named it after him, in the end. After all, no one ever used his full first name.

Wingding. Honestly, he loved his parents, but out of all the fonts to choose…

 

****

 

He grew and learned, and with that knowledge he realised that all the Monsters he knew were all tightly packed into a relatively small woodland. He would realise why, although it would come to him slowly.

The Humans that came to trade with his mother at the market _had_ always peered at his kind with something akin to fear. It was a prickling gaze, made of broken glass and judgement.

 

With Gaster’s height and his intelligence and the rareness of his species of Monster, he stood out even when surrounded by friends. This meant that often, he’d find himself singled out by watchful eyes and scowling faces. The Humans didn’t like the way that he moved, claiming that he was a sign of ill-omen. They whispered that skeletons shouldn’t come back to life, and more so that they shouldn’t be capable of such strong Magic.

 

_Unnatural._

They compared him to their myths of “Death”, and Gaster often did not dare to enter a Human village alone. It was too dangerous, the last time that Helvetica had gone she had returned sombre and afraid, her left ulna cracked. His mother forbade it, and not even his brother Candara, always reckless and a bit stupid when it came to self-preservation, argued.   

 

War was coming, and everyone knew it. Like an ill wind, it made Gaster’s once peaceful city tense. The skeleton grew into a teenager, and grew into a young adult, surrounded by other anxious grown-ups and the sense that a way of life was coming to an end. It felt as though it would only take one tipping point, one damaging strike, and like a tumbling deck of cards everything would fall apart.

It came one raining night, when the air was so cold that Gaster watched the window panes of his bedroom window fog up in condensation. He could remember the calculations scattered across parchment that were strewn across his bed, how the ink had still been drying in the dark.

A crack of lightning had illuminated his room, so that the pinpricks of his eyes glowed for a moment, piercing.

From his window, he had seen the shadow of a Monster, wandering out of the village. He thought nothing of it until the morning, instead captivated by the cumulous clouds that rolled over ahead.  

 

 ****

The entire city it felt was woken by a shriek around dawn. The noise, high and keening and animal-like, seemed to carry across the valley that held both Monster and Human homes.

It was the cry of a Human, and as she knelt before a gruesome scene, she had only one word on her lips.

**_“Murderers!”_ **

****

At the edge of the boundary between the Monster’s village and the Human’s land, a body lay torn to shreds. His clothes, once plain brown were dark red with carnage, and a pool of blood amassed about his crushed skull. The woman held his broken hand, the band on his finger matching her own, plain in colour. Around her, Humans began to slowly emerge from their homes, taking in the scene with a chorus of shocked whispers and cries.

 

It looked as though that the woman’s husband had been dragged from his home, ripped apart like a doll and discarded in the dirt. A senseless killing, shocking and brutal.

 

As the Monsters drew near the edge of their own city, drawn by the scene, the woman pointed a shaking finger in their direction. Her large, dark eyes glistened with tears and fury.

_“You! One of you did this!”_

Gaster heard the accusation, despite being pushed to the back of the crowd. His mother’s eyes were dark, faint pinpricks of light. She hid him behind her, as if she wanted nothing more than to scoop him up to her chest like she had when he was a child. He looked up to see how she looked at his dad, terrified and unsure. He kept holding her hand, skeletal phalanges intertwined like a bundle of twigs.

 

The Monsters, unsure of what to do collectively murmured amongst themselves. A murder? Who would be capable… Monsters as a whole did not fight, they did not kill. They were a peaceful race, and preferred to solve their conflicts through talking. In their small community, the idea that someone could be a killer seemed alien.

Gaster could not believe that any of his friends, his family, could be capable of such violence. He did not _want_ to believe it.

 

From the crowd of angry people, one stepped forward towards the Monsters.

Gaster recognised the woman for what she was, her deep red robes and facial paint giving away her status. A Witch, a Human with Magical capabilities. She stood tall, silver eyes hard and unforgiving. Her voice was like the crack of a whip, and it lashed out with one name on her tongue.

 

“King Asgore Dreemurr!”

Like she had summoned him with her power, the Monster stepped forward.

 

Asgore was a young ruler, for Monsterkind. His parents had died in the last winter, passing from natural causes within a few months of one another. He seemed in many ways to still be a child, despite being around the same age as Calibri. He wore his royal robes as if he still didn’t quite know how to suit them, but his large, dark eyes were serious as he approached.

 

For what he lacked in age, he made up in power. Asgore was by far one of the strongest Monsters in the city, and his Magic had a tendency to radiate from him without really trying. Behind him, his wife was an equal force. She appeared at a glance to be less threatening, but a part of Gaster suspected that she was the driving lead in their relationship. Something in the way her keen eyes tracked the Witch, gave no impression of passivity.

 

“Tira,” Asgore’s voice carried across the field, low and commanding. With the address, the Witch clutched the staff in her hand more tightly. “It appears that a crime has been committed, here.”

Tira’s silver eyes seemed to narrow at the neutrality of the king’s tone, and her voice was biting as she retorted, loud enough for all to hear.

“A murder in which a man was _torn apart._ Look at him, Pashta’s husband’s been _mauled._ ”

 

A restless murmur rippled through the crowd of Humans, some jeering loudly. Their comments were offensive, crude. It made a knot begin to form in the pit of Gaster’s stomach.

Under her breath, his mother whispered.

“Gaster, I want you to find Helvetica, Calibri and her wife, and Candara. Go home, and stay there.”

 

Gaster shot a look up at his mother, his face darkening in betrayal. He felt his Soul kick in his chest, a small shuddering of fear. She couldn’t expect him to _run,_ could she? Not when she and dad were still here…

 

“But, mom-”

_“Wingding.”_

Her voice cut off his whispered protest with a hiss, and her eyes sparked dark blue fire. Gaster shrank in spite of himself. It was so rare for his mother to summon her Magic, even rarer for her to use his real name. He felt a coldness seep into his bones, despite the warm air. His fingers, nervous and fidgety, tightened at his sides.

 

Gaster finally turned, reluctantly obeying his mother’s demands. With his back to the crowd of people, he fled. The memory of blood, of how fragile a Human body could be would imprint itself in his mind. For such Magically strong creatures, flesh did tear so easily.

 

****

The ultimatum had been brought down upon the Monsters, in particular, their king:

Find the Monster that committed the murderous act and hand them over, or come the three moon cycles, there’d be war.

 

No one knew what to do, no one had come forward to admit responsibility for the crime. There was no Magic that could trace the damage back to any one person, no way to force someone to confess to their sins. The days passed, ever drawing near to the deadline, and Monster-kind gradually seemed to brace themselves for the inevitable.

 

The Humans too, seemed unwilling to let go of the blood that had been spilt. If relationships had been tense before between the two species, now they were outright volatile. All trading stopped, and Gaster witnessed his mother lose half of her customers seemingly overnight. He didn’t think he’d ever remembered her crying before, at least, not like this. That night she cried as if she were about to lose something vital to her Soul, his dad comforting her in the kitchen with quiet words.

 

The violence began halfway to the next moon. Fires, broken windows, bullying, it seemed that the Humans were chafing, itching for a fight. Gaster, still living at home with his parents watched his neighbour’s homes smoke black ink into the sky. Even during the day, the clouds began to look black with ash. Sometimes, when the sun was setting blood-red and another person’s home was in flames, he wondered if the city were teetering on the brink of entering Hell.

The King began calling people to arms, asking for anyone with any Magical ability to stand and protect those that they loved. Asgore stood in the city square, his trident raised in a battle cry. His eyes seemed sad.

 

Gaster watched as his older sisters and brother all raised their hand to fight, and looked at his own skeletal fingers, considering. He wondered if their shaking meant he was too weak to be a soldier. He wondered if he could do it anyway, despite the way his mother’s face twisted in grief when she found out about her other children.

 

She and his dad argued with them that night, listing the dangers. Gaster watched as his siblings shouted back, Calibri’s voice ringing in the rafters of his childhood home like a bell.

 

His sister’s long arms swung outwards in fury, and her Magic burned a pulsating pink from her eyes. She silenced the argument without mercy, her normally calm demeanour shaken by determination. She snarled at their parents what all of the skeleton siblings had secretly been thinking:

_“Someone has to fight! Someone has to do something, for the sake of all of our kind!”_

Gaster didn’t feel much like a child anymore, when his siblings asked him if he would join. Instead, he felt only a humming in his bones, his Soul fluttering in fear for the future ahead. Without them, any of them, he could imagine no future. That was what spurred his agreement to Asgore’s draft.

Not the prospect of war, but a duty to protect his family. He would be brave, he would get stronger.

He would not let his siblings leave him behind.

 

****

Uniforms were heavy, Gaster soon discovered. He had always tended towards being a bit on the frail side, skeleton genetics not aiding in giving him much mass. As a result, he couldn’t help but feel as if he were swimming in his armour, despite it having been made with his frame in mind.

 

His fingers ran themselves thoughtfully over the Delta Rune crest on the front of the vest, the silvery colour glinting in the moonlight. Night was when the Monsters prepared, able to remain awake for longer hours than a Human could possibly sustain. At night, they practiced, and at night they got to know the others that were willing to fight for their freedom.

 

Despite his young age, Gaster’s Magical capabilities were something of a marvel. Though he hadn’t had reason to train himself much before, skeletons by nature had an adept understanding of their own Soul. It had something to do with the construction of their being.

 

Whatever it was, it made the young Monster a favourite amongst the older Monsters during training practice. Many of the older officers would come to watch Gaster practice his abilities on the training dummies, enthralled by his ever-growing control.

 

His Magic was dark violet, and it glowed in the night like an electrical snake as it zipped about his body, smashing into the dummies laid out before him. Almost tentacle-like, it wrapped about its target with sharp precision. Gaster could hit a moving target in the dark and “kill” it seven times out of ten, and that particular night he was intently focused.

 

He found when he got into a certain rhythm, sounds and bodies around him seemed to fade. He could almost disappear behind his power, become a part of it, and allow it to guide him in how to move and where to go. Like an extension of his body, his Magic responded to the lightest touch of his will. He wanted to be strong, he needed to be good enough to keep up with and protect his siblings. It was this mantra that kept Gaster motivated, even as he began to be referenced to as _“Intense”_ or _“Weird”_ by the Monsters around him _._

 

This also meant that he would often continue his training long after others had already made their way back to bed, until night began to grey into morning and the stars would pale and fade.

 

By the coming of sunrise, he was sweating, but every single target had been struck down. His Magic having drained him, Gaster gulped in lungful’s of cold air, alone in the centre of his training field. His ribcage heaved with the motion, and his bones quivered lightly. Alone, he allowed his burning Magic to cool, eyes fading from their flaming glow to muted pinpricks of white. Not a bad training session, even if he had missed that last head-shot.

He would do better next time.

 

Gaster allowed himself the pleasure of stretching, his joints popping out and in back to place as he arched his spine. Standing for too long in a defensive position tended to make one stiff. He sighed in pleasure at the sensation, a small smile alighting his face.

He was definitely getting stronger. At this rate, he would _have_ to be put on the same level as Helvetica _at least._

 

At first, he didn’t notice the faint glow of another presence behind him. Like a candle, the light was what caught Gaster’s eye. He turned to find a Monster looking onto his progress quietly. The glow was due to the fact that they appeared to be entirely made of flame. Like a living torch, they brightened the immediate area around them in shades of light orange and gold. Pale eyes regarded him carefully, as if they were reading his Soul.

 

Gaster immediately straightened, though his limbs were still a bit shaky. Though the Monster didn’t look much older than him, looking weak would not do. He already had enough teasing to deal with. Instead he jutted his chin outwards, rolling his shoulders back so that he stood to his full height. He knew he was tall for a Monster, and though he hadn’t quite grown into gracefulness yet like his siblings Gaster knew he could be intimidating.

 

The flame Monster didn’t really seem perturbed. Though his expressions (being made of fire after all) were hard to read, it seemed like there was the faintest glint of amusement and curiosity in his features. He kept his silence, until Gaster felt like his bones were crawling with speculation. In the end he was the one to break it, and the language he automatically used betrayed his nerves.

**_“What do you want?”_ **

****

The caterwauling of noise sounded loud in the early morning, like a cat being thrown underwater. He immediately flushed violet, having forgotten himself.

Wingdings. _Dammit._

Gaster felt ridiculous and foolish. He tried to ignore the sudden impulse to sink into the ground and vanish, as if he could melt into the earth.

 

“They said you spoke differently,” The fire-Monster’s voice was low, and it gave the impression that it didn’t speak very often. It didn’t sound weirded out, instead coming across as thoughtful. That alone was a reaction Gaster was distinctly unaccustomed to.

“I wasn’t sure what to make of it, as every time I’ve heard you, you’ve used plain old English. What even is that language? I’ve never heard it before.”

 

Gaster still wasn’t certain what the other Monster wanted. He cautiously answered, as if looking for some kind of trick or sign that his reply would be wrong.

It had happened once or twice before, in truth. People thought he was slow because he defaulted to a language that only his family understood. They didn’t take the time to realise that often, his brain was already fifty steps ahead of the average Monster. He spoke the way he did not out of necessity, but out of ease. Gaster’s thoughts flowed better when he used his own tongue, and he wasn’t sure why. It was just what it was, a fact.

“I can speak English just fine. What… what you heard… it’s my own language. I m-made it up. It’s… called… it’s called Wingdings.”

 

It sounded even stupider aloud. If possible, the skeleton flushed harder. He was sure that his entire face was purple by now. Gaster was not prone to self-doubt, but now he wished that he had merely kept his mouth shut and excused himself from the other Monster’s presence. His shoulders hunched defensively.

 

“That’s actually kind of neat,” The response came after a beat of silence, and for a moment Gaster blinked, trying to translate its meaning. He shot the fire Monster a suspicious glance, looking for some kind of trickery. Yet there was an earnest stance to the man, and he seemed to be musing half out loud. “I’ve seen your sister; Helvetica, use the same language when she’s making lists. It’s like a secret family code, huh?”

 

The flame crackled a bit, seemingly pleased with his own analogy.

 

Gaster decided to repeat his initial question, this time in a language that the other Monster could understand.

“What do you want?” He murmured, his skeletal head tilted to one side in question. He watched as the fire-Monster seemed to startle, collecting himself before things got too far off topic.

He seemed to manage the equivalent of a flaming smile, or rather a line of heat sizzled across his face briefly.

 

“Oh, I forgot. My higher-up; Gerson, told me to find you,” Gaster had heard of the old turtle, the equivalent of a captain in their rag-tag attempt at an army. “They’re looking at taking the new recruits next week and pairing them off together, for teamwork assignments and stuff. Said something about it improving cooperation. He told me that a skeleton with purple Magic usually went to the training grounds around this time, and that he might be a good fit.”

 

Here the flame seemed to hesitate, as if he were afraid of offending the skeleton. A moment later, Gaster understood why.

“I’m… I guess since you’re kind of quiet a lot of the other guys… Gerson thought you might get along better someone who doesn’t need to talk as much. I’m also… he thinks I’m pretty strong, Magic-wise.”

 

“You’ve talked a lot in these past couple of minutes.” Gaster couldn’t help but point out in spite of himself. Instead of being offended, the flame merely smiled, keeping his mouth shut. The skeleton could feel a small wave of amusement flickering inside of him, the likes of which he firmly tried to hide.

 

He considered the proposal carefully to himself for a moment. In truth, the idea of a partner initially seemed like a drawback. Having another person you had to rely on could be a fifty-fifty outcome, and the chance of two people being incompatible with one another was high. There was the personal aspect, but there was also the _Magical._ Even if you happened to get along great with the other Monster, if your Magic types were too different you would struggle in battle together.

 

On the other hand, find a perfect partner… and your abilities and defences would double in strength. A small, selfish part of Gaster would also admit to himself that for all of his drive, he was rather lonely. He had grown up in a home filled to the rafters with other people to talk to, and there had been a time when he hadn’t been able to walk out the door without someone calling out to him to _“Stay safe”_ Or to _“Be home by sundown”._

 

Even Candara, who was only a year ahead of him in age, could rarely go to his section of the camp for a visit. Everyone was simply too busy, too fearful, too determined.

 

Gaster clicked his teeth together decisively, his mind made up. He looked to the flame-Monster, in his voice something of a challenge.

“What’s your name?”

The flame’s colour heated to gold with delight, hearing the decision made in the skeleton’s tone.

“I’m Grillby, you?”

“Wingding. Wingding Gaster.”

 

Grillby laughed a bit at the name, the flames about his head crackling like wood over a fire.

“That’s uh, quite a mouthful.”

The skeleton gave a quietly sardonic smile.

“Most people just use Gaster, in truth.”

“Gaster.”

 

The flame seemed to be rolling the name about in his mouth, as if deciding whether or not he liked it. The skeleton resisted the urge to fidget as Grillby tilted his head in consideration, a humming note leaving his non-existent mouth.

“Dings.” He seemed to decide “I’ll call you Dings.”

“That’s more ridiculous than Gaster.” The skeleton squawked in mock-outrage.

“Would you prefer _Wingding?_ ”  The flame retorted, to which Gaster quickly reconsidered his annoyance. He held up skeletal hands in surrender, but there was a sly glint in his eye, a hope for amusement. His jokes were not everyone’s taste, but if they were to work together… Grillby would have to get used to them.

“N-no need to be so hot-headed…”

 

Grillby looked at him, and promptly groaned aloud in disgust. With his head tilted up towards the morning sky, he seemed to bemoan what he was about to get himself into.

“That, my new friend, was truly _appalling.”_


	3. Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a midterm on thursday but this was already edited and I wanted to get it out ;A;   
> In this chapter: Feels train, romance, and preparation for the Feels Missile Launcher, which will likely ram its way through your chest ^_^
> 
> Enjoy~

 

**LOG DATE: SAVE FILE TWO: YEAR- (REDACTED)**

Grillby; Gaster learned quickly, was indeed strong. A month after meeting him, and the skeleton had yet to land an actual hit during training. The fire Monster was impressive when fighting, his ferocity a sharp contrast to his normally very gentle air. He used his entire body as a weapon, his flames having the ability to be no warmer than a Human’s skin, or blaze hotter than a streaking comet. Even better, he was quick on his feet.

 

Gaster had learned quickly that his own Magic was agile, prehensile and whip-like in nature, able to shift with the barest change of his thoughts. Yet Grillby was inventive. He didn’t fall into practised defences easily, and seemed to be good at guessing what Gaster’s next move might be before the skeleton had even fully decided. The flame’s attacks were orange and gold disks of fire, and though they singed a little they were not designed to burn during training. Like tilting oneself out into the sun, Gaster found that Grillby’s flames never did more than warm his bones. In return, his whips never did more than bruise.

No, it couldn’t even be really called a competition between the two of them, there was a competitive edge but it wasn’t designed to hurt.

It was a game.

 

 _“You gotta be faster than that, slowpoke!”_ Gaster laughed as he dodged a flaming attack aimed for his shoulder, twisting eel-like in a way that only someone made of bones could. Sunk down to the ground, he raised a hand, purple Magic writhing a moment before lashing out to try and catch the bright spark before him.

 

Gathered around the training ring, Gaster heard his siblings whooping and cheering. They, along with quite a few of the older and more senior Monsters in command, had decided to watch this sparring match. Helvetica had been the first to show an interest, having noticed how her youngest brother had seemed to be slowly coming out of the shell he so often wore. Gaster had never been exactly skilled in socializing, his forte having fallen more on being brilliant than social.

 

If you had asked him as a child about what interested him, he would have babbled to you in a kid’s voice about stars and space and the concept of worlds that existed in bubbles alongside his own. He would have shown you his blueprints, careful scribbles written out alongside them by way of explanation. He would have taken your hand, tried to pull you into the vortex of his own mind where a tornado of thoughts and theories had hummed behind serious eyes, even as a child. Yet would he have asked you about your interests? Your hobbies?

 

The idea at one point would have been laughable, and not because her younger brother was selfish. It was more due to the fact that W.D was so often wrapped up in the marvels his own thoughts gave him, that he lost sight of the things directly in his path.

 

As Helvetica sat with her skeletal chin in one hand, she found it no real mystery after all as to what had made Gaster choose to focus. One glance at the friendly fight going on before them, and anyone could see how Grillby seemed to brighten her younger brother’s more introspective hues. The thought charmed her, and she whispered to her elder sister behind her fingers as much.

 

“Gotta hand it to him, Wingdings sure knows how to pick ‘em. Might ask and see if Torch-Head there has a brother.”

Callibri shot her sister a stern but amused look, Helvetica giggling lightly.

“You leave him alone, Hel,” the older of the two murmured quietly, her own hand finding her wife’s beside her. Ariadne was a lime green and yellow spider Monster, so this meant that Calibri held one of her many appendages while Ariadne smiled in fanged affection. “Times are dark enough without accidentally ruining something as harmless as a crush.”

 

“You guys gossip too much,” Candara complained from the bench in front of them, his head tilted back so that he was staring up at his sisters. He was very much used to his sister’s tendency towards chatting about others. A sardonic smile twitched across his face, his eyes glowing with faint Magic, yellow in hue. “Just let Gaster fuck things up on his own with this relationship. Builds character.”

“Ass.” Helvetica piped in, and the two younger skeletons began to squabble in typical sibling-like fashion.

 

Calibri’s eyes were white pinpricks of light as she looked on at Gaster, oblivious to the conversation now that she had lost her train of thought. Her brow-bone was creased, as it often became whenever the impending battle was discussed. She was one of the leading brains behind many of the more scientific aspects behind the war, and what she saw did not look good. She had been researching Humans and Monsters for years, even before the ultimatum. When it came down to it, a Human body was incredibly resilient, compared to that of a Monster’s.

 

She had tried to tell Asgore this only last night. His expression had been one of someone caught between a rock and a hard place. The way his face had fallen would have made hair stand up on the back of Calibri’s arms, if she had been born with any. She had told Asgore that she would begin to look into information regarding back-ups. There were places to go, if the Humans truly didn’t wish to coexist.

The war hadn’t even truly begun, and yet already they were preparing to lose. That in itself sat like lead in Calibri’s non-existent gut. The secret felt like a physical weight upon her shoulders.

 

Candara’s voice was low, suddenly darkened with interest as he gazed upon their younger sibling’s fighting progress.

“Do you think he’ll figure out the blasters?” Though his tone was deliberately jovial, there was an undercurrent, an edge. Both of his sisters stiffened, Calibri’s wife making a clicking noise of disapproval towards the darker side of their Magic.

“Wingdings is too much like dad,” Helvetica denied instantly, although she looked towards Calibri for confirmation. “He never learned them.”

“Dad never had a reason to.”

Calibri murmured, her voice tight. All three of the siblings felt a chill in their bones, despite the mildness of the evening.

 

Helvetica thought about the time she had wandered into the Human’s village, looking for trade. She remembered the dust roads, the unfriendly faces. She remembered the fear, choking and black, that had consumed her at the realisation that she had been cornered by a group of adults. She could recall the bite of the stone against her spine as she had pressed herself against the wall, begging for them not to hurt her. She could remember the licking fire of a broken arm.

She could remember the inhuman snarling that had awoken within her with its agony, alive with hate and the desire to strike, to kill. She could remember that hate manifesting itself into physical form.

 

There was a high, popping noise that only came with Magic hitting its target, snapping Helvetica out of the darkness of her thoughts. She looked up, startled to see that Gaster had managed to finally corner Grillby, Magic forming a loose sort of net about him. The fire Monster growled in amusement over it, lifting his hands in reluctant surrender. Gaster let out a whoop of triumph, for once sounding like his age. He ran on long legs over to his sparring partner, animatedly chatting away about trials and tests and probabilities.

Even more fascinating, was the fact that Grillby appeared to be genuinely listening, even if he didn’t appear to entirely understand.

 

Helvetica tried to imagine a scenario in which Gaster might be able to manifest that kind of hatred, that will to destroy. If she were entirely honest with herself, she was at once glad and worried to say that she couldn’t.

 

****

Being partnered up with Grillby meant that Gaster spent a lot of time with the flame Monster, and so as the weeks went on the two began to learn more about one another.

Nights were spent training, learning each other’s moves and getting a feel for one another’s strong points and weaknesses. A partner on the battle field was only as good as their weakness, and both Grillby and Gaster learned fast that though they were both strong, they still had a fair bit of work to do.

 

Gaster was fast, his Magic able to reach blurring speeds when he was focused.

Yet his attacks were less destructive and more designed to limit a person’s ability to attack instead of kill.

In contrast, Grillby’s flames were as destructive as he wanted them to be, all a measure of temperature. The issue with the flame was that he got too caught up in details, and often as a result could be distracted.

Gaster took delight in this, often tripping Grillby up with his purple Magic while the Monster was distracted with another attack.

The two of them worked well together, and it showed.

 

During the day, the two were equally inseparable. Gaster found that his lunches were filled with his sibling’s presence and Grillby’s, and occasionally even Grillby’s family.

The flame’s older brother and father had both joined the war, and though they were quiet they made comfortable company. They didn’t mind that sometimes the skeleton’s broke off to speak to one another in Wingdings, or that Gaster occasionally tripped and stumbled over his words when an idea came to him too quickly.

In return, Gaster’s family did their best to make Grillby feel welcome when he joined them for meals, never pushing him to speak too much or commenting on his somewhat stoic features.

 

Both Monsters found themselves with friends, and as the approaching war loomed over them they found themselves grateful that neither really had too much time alone to stop and contemplate what lay ahead.

 

Their friendship was fast-formed, but it still took a while for either of them to wholly feel comfort with the idea of the other knowing too much about them. For Gaster, it was the constant fear in the back of his mind that Grillby would find him strange or odd once he got to know him.

For Grillby, it was the fact that he was surprisingly shy in the oddest of ways.

 

The first time Gaster complimented Grillby’s fighting style, he had watched in a mixture of fascination and disbelief as the flames that made up his friend flickered white, then deep scarlet. The colour of it glowed like a hot ember, and the skeleton had watched as his friend had stuttered something unintelligible and pleased under his breath before falling silent.

It was soon established that in Grillby’s family, compliments were rarely given, but honestly meant.

 

“I grew up with only my brother and my dad,” The flame Monster had later explained, the two of them sitting companionably in the grass outside of Gaster’s tent. The summer air was cool, and a breeze whistled through the skeleton’s bones. They were both dressed casually, Gaster in a plain grey sweater and pants, Grillby’s shirt forest-green and fire-proof. In their hands, they each held a beer, given in reward for training hard that day by Gerson (with the express declaration that if anyone asked him, he would pretend to know nothing about it ‘ _Wahaha’)_. They drink was strong, Monster Magic infused in the bubbles.

 

Grillby looked up to the thousands of stars beginning to peek out overhead as he spoke, his voice low and melodious in thought. “You may have noticed…None of us are very… good with words. We struggle sometimes to say things that are important. Dad always said it was a bit of a bad family habit.”

 

He smiled a crackling grin then, tilting his head to look over at Gaster. “The first time my bro; Flint, ever complimented me was when I pranked the neighbours. I made a self-sustaining flame that wouldn’t actually be hot enough to burn anything, and snuck into their house. Then I left it on the stove and snuck back out. For hours, all you could hear was the couple screaming about how the fire wouldn’t go out. They were too panicked to notice it wasn’t growing or torching anything.”

 

Gaster giggled, imagining a smaller version of his friend sneaking through someone’s window. Apparently, the fact that Grillby had been a quiet child meant that often he could get away with murder. Adults had a strange habit of assuming that just because a child didn’t often speak, meant that they were incapable of mischievous activities.

 

“Of course, my dad knew instantly it was one of us.” Grillby grinned, a crackling line of gold crawling across his features. “He couldn’t tell which one of us it was, though. Our Magic trace is nearly identical, being siblings and all. So he got an idea,”

He paused, taking a slow sip of his drink. Sitting as they were in the long grass and darkness, Grillby was like a firefly. Comforting, warm. Gaster had to resist the urge to curl nearer towards him against the chill. Skeletons were forever cold, it seemed.

“He decided not to punish either of us, but to pretend like he was just coming up with a terrible, suitable punishment all week. He kept referencing to it, at dinner, at breakfast… eventually I was terrified that I was going to end up getting Flint in trouble.”

 

“That’s devious.” Gaster grinned, immensely pleased with the clever tactic. Grillby chuckled, the sound simmering like logs over a fire.

“I cracked within two days. Loud sobbing, begging for forgiveness, the works. I think my dad busted something from trying not to laugh so hard. He wasn’t even really mad. Later, Flint told me that he had been impressed by the whole prank, if begrudgingly. It was worth having to trim the neighbour’s buttercups for a month.”

 

Grillby looked on in amusement as Gaster cackled, the sound free and without composure. It was a loose, joyful noise, not entirely dignified yet still somehow charming. The flame thought to himself not for the first time that he rather liked the sound of it.  

 

“Buttercups are poisonous, you know.” Gaster murmured once he had stopped his laughter, his voice musing. “Species: _Ranunculus._ Pretty flowers, but they cause a wealth of health problems if ingested. I did a project on them, once.”

It took Grillby a moment to recognise the faraway look in the Monster’s eyes, the musing way he looked at the stars. There was a flush to Gaster’s skeletal cheeks, pale purple. When Grillby recognised it, the flame couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You monologue when drunk, then?”

 

Gaster made a vague humming noise that was neither an affirmation nor a denial. His eyes were slid to half-mast, and he looked up at the stars in their glittering trail above like they held locked within them the world’s secrets.

“Wouldn’t know. M’not drunk,” The skeleton’s voice was quiet, as if he didn’t much care one way or the other if he was indeed, inebriated. When he spoke again, he unconsciously slipped into Wingdings, speech rounded and open. **_“It’s beautiful here. I’ve never been so close to the mountain until now. The sky… it’s like a painting.”_**

****

Grillby sighed, seeming to understand that his friend was a bit too gone to switch back to a language he could comprehend. Honestly, Wingdings just sounded to him like a cat being held underwater, and if he let him then Gaster would get started on a monologue that he couldn’t even hope to comprehend.

With that skinny frame, he should have known that his friend would be a lightweight. Grillby was surprised that Gaster wasn’t doing something more foolish, like humming or flailing about.

 

The fire Monster downed the rest of his drink with a swig, rising from the grass and offering the skeleton a hand up.

“C’mon then, you. Knowing my luck your sisters will think I’m trying to get you plastered and blast me to the moon.”

Fire wrapped about bony phalanges, Gaster rising without too much of a fuss. The skeleton stumbled a bit when on his feet, but soon righted himself. Though he was taller than Grillby, he was all angles, and seemed rather fragile when like this. If it weren’t for the knowledge that Gaster regularly beat him in sparring matches, the flame Monster would admit that he’d likely think him to be weak.

 

Gaster seemed to remember English, at least long enough to question Grillby’s words.

“Why would they think that?” He murmured, voice warm and fuzzy at the edges. Gaster found in the darkness that Grillby’s flames shone like a beacon, and rather a bit like a moth he was drawn to their glow. He enjoyed the way that the flame Monster was a self-sustaining furnace, only warming as the skeleton invaded his personal space. It was cold out, Gaster reasoned. It could be excused. He _hated_ feeling cold.

His question made the fire Monster’s expression shift into something gentle and complicated, but Grillby didn’t respond. Instead, he seemed to sigh a bit, the tips of his flames glinting a reddish-pink as he offered his shoulder to lean on.

 

That was rather nice of him, as Gaster realised only just then that he was swaying a bit like a branch in the breeze. He should get drunk more often, he had no tolerance to speak of… it was a little sad. Accepting the help happily, the skeleton burrowed himself up against Grillby’s side much like a rabbit tunnelling into its burrow. Gaster could feel the gentle hum of the other Monster’s voice in his bones as they slowly began to make their way back to the tents.

“You’re completely oblivious, aren’t you? Just my luck.”

He didn’t sound all that mad.

“Nah, I’m just _boneheaded._ ”

“…I will leave you in the grass to get your own bony ass back to camp…Swear on my Soul.”

 

****

Smoke blackened the morning after, hiding the sun behind thick clouds of ashen grey. Like a child had been left alone with black finger paint, messy coal smears streaked over pale blue sky.

Gaster awoke with the faint memory of gentle hands about his middle, and a voice hoping he’d sleep well. He was driven out of bed by the shrill ring of alarm shrieking through the camp. It was a high, plaintive cry, and he soon found out its reason as he nudged his way out into the open.

 

Chaos had overtaken the campsite in the span of only a half hour. Monsters were running to and fro, those without water-type Magic carrying buckets of water from the nearby well.

The source of the smoke was soon evident, coming from the camp’s supply tent. Their food, their medical equipment… all of it was on fire. Gaster felt the air punch out of his non-existent lungs, his legs seemingly rooted to the spot as he absorbed the sight of it. Like a terriblr flower, the fire bloomed overhead, angry orange and hot enough that even from this distance, he could feel its warmth.

 

He was knocked out of his daze by a Monster pushing past, nearly throwing him off his feet in their haste. Recovering, Gaster saw it was a rabbit-type Monster bounding towards the fire. They were carrying a watering can, a makeshift bucket for water. They were less running and more hopping, the water spilling over the sides of the pail.

 

_“Dings!”_

Grillby’s voice rang out above the din, sharp and harried. Gaster turned instinctively at the nickname (as he had been doing distressingly more often as of late). The flame seemed to blend into the background of smoke and ash, yet his eyes glowed with concern and stress. He ran to the skeleton’s side, stopping to breathlessly explain. “It happened with the Watch change. Th-the humans, they attacked the guard and set the supplies tent on fire.”

 

Something inside Gaster went cold and sick, as if words could poison. His brother was on guard duty. His eyes flashed dead, void of emotion and light. His hands clenched at his sides as he forced himself to ask, for once appearing like a skeleton should, lifeless.

“Candara?”

Seeming to expect the question, Grillby shook his head. It was a quick, jerky motion. Clipped.

“He was on last shift. He’s ok.” Like a piano string cut, Gaster’s posture loosened back into his usual mild slouch. His eyes brightened, returning to concerned pinpricks of white.

“What do we need to do?”

“I can’t help put out the fire, so I’m on standby for now. You however, should be grabbing a bucket. Orders come from Asgore himself.” Grillby seemed for once rather annoyed with his physical form, grimacing. Water and fire did not mix, even if it was a fire Monster.

 

The skeleton nodded, his mind already focused on the immediate problem. Gaster broke into a light jog, already headed for the well to help. His silhouhette quickly blended into the smog.

 

Grillby turned to look at the devastation, the flame uncomfortably cold despite the heat crackling in the early morning light. A feeling of dread hung over him like a second skin.

 

****

“We have to retaliate.”

General Hudge, a growling, fish-type Monster spoke loudly despite the cramped quarters of Asgore’s tent. He was the kind of person that never seemed to speak in a decibel lower than a shout, and his heavy-set brow and jaw made him an intimidating figure to face down. His yellow eyes dared anyone to disagree with his statement, but it was a bit overkill in truth.

No one was impressed with the current situation as it stood.

 

“We’re not strong enough to retaliate with a head-on attack,” Calibri spoke out then from the other side of the large table the Monsters were gathered about, rising from her chair.

The others shifted, aware of the skeleton’s brains and skill for strategy.

Her eyes, white pinpricks of light, were critical as she addressed the group. “The Humans have seven powerful wizards protecting their village, and all of them are trained to the fullest extent of their Magic. That much power… Alone it would be challenging, but combined with soldiers, we’re looking at a mass-dusting.”

 

“What _should_ we do then, just sit on our fins and do nothing? Our supplies have been burned to a crisp, all of our food and medicine. At this rate we won’t _make_ it to the third moon cycle!” Hudge retorted with a growl. He glared at Calibri, as though offended by her presence. She was one of the youngest Monsters that made up the council of leaders, and many truthfully viewed her as inexperienced.

“I’m not saying that,” The skeleton snapped back, clamping sharply down on her temper. Her bony fingers curled against the table’s edges tightly, Calibri’s gaze dark. “I’m saying that if we want to limit casualties, we’re going to have to do more than rush _blindly_ into things.”

“It’s not _blind_ if you attack their weak points. Playing dirty, we could ruin their water, set fire to their crops… enough to even the score.”

“ _Antagonize them further?_ Are you _mad?”_

Hudge let out a snarl of annoyance, and things might have turned ugly if it weren’t for the king’s presence.

 

“Calibri,” Asgore spoke up then from the head of the table, halting both Monsters from getting into a real argument. All heads turned towards their king, waiting for his verdict.

He had worn a grim expression on his face during the entire procession, but now his eyes seemed like heavy stones. It was clear, looking at his council like this, that Monster-kind had been badly shaken by the attack. They had taken the Humans at their word that they would not begin fighting until the third moon cycle. For a Monster, breaking their word was to break trust, and no one felt safe now, even in their own camps and homes. “I agree that some action must be taken. However, I _also_ agree that we must be careful.”

 

Both Calibri and Hudge looked approving and nervous, the two of them very much aware that a compromise could end up being the worst of both worlds. Asgore’s word was final, and his commands held weight to them. His voice was quiet as one paw scratched at the beginnings of a beard in thought.

“Hudge, I want you to begin gathering soldiers for a counter-attack. However, I would also like you, Calibri, to come up with a tactical retreat that will spare as many lives as possible. You can take from the army who you wish to help, but I want civilian Monsters out of the range of fire and the option to go somewhere _safe._ ” He stressed the final word.

 

“The mountain,” Calibri murmured after a long moment of thought. Her expression was decisive, her nod clipped and sharp. “Mount Ebott is full of tunnels and hiding places. It’s also massive. If a retreat is necessary, it will have more than enough space to house us all.” She paused then, brow-bone furrowing a little. For the first time, she seemed hesitant to voice her theories. “If… If a distraction is needed… my siblings and I are all skilled in a very powerful kind of attack Magic. Well, all of us except for Wingdings.”

It was clear from Hudge’s grudging expression that the fish-Monster didn’t think a retreat would be necessary. Still, he nodded his scaled head, a clawed hand tapping against the table-top.

“Your younger brother will still be of use on the field. He’s still one of the stronger Monsters we have.”

 

Beside him, Gerson wheezed one of his characteristic laughs, for the first time making a sound since the meeting began. The old tortoise squinted an eye, his voice light despite the weight of the atmosphere. In the candlelight of Magic and true fire, the lines of his face seemed deep and ageless. He had lived for far longer than most still alive, and would likely to continue to live for many hundreds of years to come. Tortoises to begin with had large lifespans, but a Magical one? Well. As a result, his opinion also held a weight to it, when it was rarely given. As it stood, he seemed approving.

Gerson was the kind of creature that used first names with everyone, even the king. It was a familiarity that few were permitted, but the Monster was so old it seemed to fit.

“Seems like we have a plan, then. Right, Asgore?”

 

The king nodded, his face still lost in thought.

“A plan.” He agreed neutrally.

 

****

The “plan” for a counter-attack as it were, went like this:

While the Monsters that were able to fight snuck their way into the Human villages for an ambush attack, Calibri, Helvetica and Candara would be gathering civilians and preparing them for an emergency evacuation.

Candara, being the closest to Gaster in age, had been given the task of explaining to him why he couldn’t work with his siblings. It was a task the skeleton took to with the resigned expression of someone preparing to go into battle.

 

 ** _“You’re needed on the front line, bro.”_** The older skeleton had tried to make it seem like a positive decision, like his brother wasn’t being delegated to foot soldier because his Magic wasn’t yet strong enough. Candara slipped into Wingdings with ease, hoping to appeal to his brother’s better side even slightly.

Gaster hadn’t been convinced, his eyes glowing violet in fury in the quiet shelter of his tent. His words were a hiss, garbled symbols and shapes that seemed to float in the air with his anger. He didn’t often get angry, but when he did it was a furious thing, acidic and venomous.

 ** _“So you guys get to go on some big side mission that I can’t be a part of because you think I’m weak.”_** The betrayal of it stung, sharp and raw in the marrow of his bones. Gaster glared up at Candara, feeling his hands clench at his sides tightly.

****

**_“We don’t think you’re weak,”_** Candara sighed, shoulders slumping. He’d never had much patience as a whole, and it was reaching the point where he usually hit his limit. **_“But you can’t do what we need to do to create a distraction.”_**

**_“I can learn!”_ **

**_“In three hours?”_ **

Candara finally snapped, his Magic crackling in his eyes. **_“This isn’t about YOU, Gaster! It’s not even about us! There are bigger things at play here and you need to understand that! Stop acting like a kid!”_**

****

Gaster was seething, he wanted to shake his brother, to scream at him. He wasn’t _trying_ to be selfish, didn’t he understand that?! He was only trying to do what he had promised himself, keep his family safe. He had _promised._

**_“What if you get hurt, then what? What am I going to tell mum? Tell dad? While the three of you are off on some crazy stunt-”_ **

**_“It’s the king’s orders, Gaster.”_ **

**_“It has Calibri’s influence written all over it!”_** Gaster snapped **_“Don’t take me for an idiot! She always treats me like I’m made of glass but I’m not!”_**

****

The brothers glared at one another, not breaking eye contact even as there was a rustling sound of footsteps approaching the tent. The crackling smell of a fireplace alerted Gaster to who it was a moment before Grillby entered. The fire Monster wasn’t paying attention, his eyes on a handful of documents. He was talking aloud, having not noticed the spat he had just interrupted.

“So, looks like we’re being detailed to the west half of the village. I’m to set distraction fires and you’re to create a defence with your Magic. Fairly standard-”

Grillby paused, sensing the tension that hung thick and oppressive in the air. He looked up to see Candara and Gaster, facing off against one another in a way that was uncharacteristically vicious for the skeleton siblings. Feeling as though he had wandered into an awkward encounter, Grillby coughed, a faint reddish tin colouring his cheeks as he fell silent in the presence of Gaster’s (admittedly slightly scary) older brother.

“Um. I’m sorry, did I…” He trailed off as Candara straightened, fixing him with an unreadable expression.

 

The older of the skeletons wore a smile on his face, but it wasn’t an entirely kind one. Instead it seemed to be strained, holding back more complex emotions as he laughed with false ease.

“No worries, Grillby,” He murmured, ignoring Gaster’s glowering expression “My brother and I were just chatting.”

 

 ** _“This isn’t over.”_** Gaster muttered, causing Candara’s smile to become if possible more fixed. The white pinpricks of his eyes seemed to fade, and Grillby felt as if the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Though he didn’t understand a word of what Candara said, he could recognise the tone. He resisted the urge to sputter down into a spark like a child under the weight of their anger.

The older skeleton made to brush past the flame, his parting words tired and edged like knives.

**_“I’m sorry, G. But this is war, and sometimes life isn’t fair. You want to stop being treated like a kid? Stop acting like one. Do your job. Protect the people that matter.”_ **

****

Candara’s hollow eyes lingered on Grillby a moment later, something heavy and significant in their stare. Gaster, catching the look, only flushed more deeply.

 

Grillby watched in confusion as Candara left the tent, feeling as though he had just been put under some kind of invisible microscope for perusal.


	4. Underground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be adding some tags soon, but this is where the fic begins to get into Gaster's drive and what made him into who he is today. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy ^_^ Thanks for reading~

 

 

**LOG DATE: SAVE FILE THREE: YEAR- (REDACTED)**

 

There was a ringing in Gaster’s skull that didn’t seem to want to leave. It trembled, a bell-like tone that made him squint in pain and confusion. For a moment, it was all he knew, aching right down into the marrow of his Soul.

 

He blinked slowly, nausea causing his vision to swim and darken. A second passed, and the skeleton honestly thought he was blind. He allowed a second of heart-wrenching panic, before he recognised that grime had merely filled the sockets of his eyes.

A hand came up to wipe the dirt away, and he winced as he felt a radiating pain emanate from his skull.

Gaster felt along the radiating agony with his fingers, making out what it was and feeling a well of dread build inside of his non-existent stomach.

A crack.

There was a crack in his skull, deep and painful and running through his right eye. It throbbed when his fingers brushed it, the ringing intensifying.

 

Ah, that was… a problem.

 

Slowly Gaster struggled to his feet, noting with a vague sort of confusion that the air was filled with hot ash and smoke. He appeared to be standing in some sort of a crater, an indent in the earth that was pressed down on all sides. There was a charred ring, clearly marking him as an outlier. It was as if he had fallen asleep inside of some kind of explosion, and in truth the sight was unsettling.

_Where was Grillby?_

_Weren’t they creating distractions in the Human village?_

It was certainly the last thing Gaster could remember, although the head injury might have been responsible for that. He swallowed the tight lump of fear that was beginning to build inside of him, forcing himself to breathe. It would be alright, everything would be alright.

His hands, nervous and impatient, wrung themselves together.

 

Tentatively Gaster spoke out, calling across the desolate wasteland for a fellow soldier, for a friend. Even a family member, despite Gaster’s annoyance with them, would have been accepted. He frowned as his own voice sounded strange to him, almost garbled.

_Odd._

 

After a moment, there was a shuffling sound behind him. The skeleton turned, hopeful in spite of himself. The beginnings of a smile grew on Gaster’s face, but it soon faded as he saw the silhouette that was drawing itself through the haze of smoking ash.

 

A Human soldier. He approached in Mage’s robes, his eyes burning an unnatural green, viciously angry. His teeth were bared, and he shouted something.

Gaster couldn’t hear the words, they rang in his head strangely, tinnitus filling his skull. He clutched at his head, wincing at the noise.

It was for this reason he didn’t see the soldier lift his hand, Magic glowing electrically from his fingertips. A spear appeared, glowing hotly in the man’s hand. The Human lifted it, aimed straight for Gaster’s chest.

 

Something knocked the skeleton off his feet just as the spear was flung, his breath punched from his false lungs. Gaster and the body went flying, the skeleton’s ears only ringing more loudly. He groaned something unintelligible, eyes opening to see a familiar shape curled over him protectively.

 

Grillby had an expression on his face that Gaster had not yet seen, but immediately it was both a fearsome and wonderful thing to see. Wonderful, because it meant that the flame was alive. Grillby’s eyes were narrowed to slits, and his body was a wild inferno of flame, barely tamed into something humanoid in shape. His mouth was a sparking crack of gold, flame-made fangs peeking out from inside. He breathed, and smoke trailed from his lips. There was a vibration, and it took Gaster only a moment to realise that Grillby was snarling.

 

To Gaster’s rattled mind, the sight was strangely glorious. It was clear the Monster was in a violent mood, even downright murderous, and yet it was like seeing a drink of water amidst a desert.

Head wound. Definitely some kind concussion.

 

He must have made some kind of noise, because Grillby’s head turned towards him, expression immediately softening into a mixture of relief and worry. A flaming hand reached up, brushing the crack along the skeleton’s skull. Gaster winced, and shook his head in confusion as his battle partner spoke. It still sounded hopelessly garbled, as if he were being held underwater.

_Don’t understand. I can’t hear._

He said. Or at least, he hoped he did. It was hard to tell when he couldn’t make out the sound of his own voice.

Grillby’s expression only darkened, but the flame didn’t have much time to check his partner for further injuries.

 

In the next moment, he was shoving Gaster once more to the side, the vibration of a spear ringing in the skeleton’s bones as they both dodged the Human’s attacks once more. This time Grillby made sure to get up, making his body into a physical shield between their attacker and Gaster. His hands crackled with light, and a fireball began to grow in his palm.

Wingding knew this attack well. He immediately closed his eyes, bracing for the ensuing explosion.

Sure enough, it came.

 

Fireball after fireball filled the air, launching themselves at the Human. Midway through their arcing throw they transformed, turning into effigies of snarling wolves, dragons that bared their teeth and spat flame. It was a terrifying attack, one that required speed as well as cunning. These flames could sense their attacker, and moved if one just dodged.

The Human clearly found it a difficult attack to counter, and as they struck out against the flames, Grillby took his chance.

 

He heaved Gaster up to his feet, ignoring the skeleton’s groan of pain. Then, the two of them began to run. They fled as best they could, and in fairness did well considering Gaster wasn’t so sure they were seeing things clearly. The vision in their right eye kept flickering in and out again. 

He tried not to think about how that frightened him.

 

It was only once they were far enough away, once Grillby stopped pushing him and the skeleton could collapse into the grass and suck in grateful lungfuls of cold air, that Gaster recognised what the smoking ruins were.

The Human village, or what was left of it, lay before them. It was a charred wasteland, burning brightly like a giant candle in the darkness. Houses were collapsed, the frames all pointing in the same direction: away from the centre of whatever blast had felled them in the first place.

Gaster felt his mouth fall open in shock and horror, scarcely daring to believe the sight of it. It was a wasteland, wretched and terrible, and his brain negated its image, wanting to reject it outright in comparison to how he’d last remembered it.

_What **the hell** had happened?_

_…aster…_

“GASTER!”

Over the ringing in his ears, a voice finally broke free. It was loud, shockingly so, and the skeleton turned to find that Grillby had all but pressed his mouth to the hole of his ear.

Leaning away, the skeleton made a distressed whine, his brain still muddled and confused. Where was everyone else? The other soldiers? He didn’t know what was happening, and he had to find his siblings-

 

Grillby gripped his shoulders, and the flame was worked up enough that the touch was like a furnace. He looked into the skeleton’s eyes, his own glowing pupils wide with barely-suppressed worry.

Very loudly and very carefully, Grillby stressed his words.

“HUMANS MADE AN EXPLOSION. SEARCH FOR SURVIVORS. FOUND YOU,” A flicker of relief, brief and passing before Grillby continued “HAVE TO GO, HAVE TO FIND THE OTHERS. TELL THEM TO GET UNDERGROUND. IT WAS A TRAP. CAME BACK FOR YOU.”

 

It didn’t seem like enough information, and yet despite the swimming of his mind, Gaster understood. He felt a chill enter his bones, the implications finally hitting him.

It wasn’t ash, filling the air. Not ash at all.

It was _Dust._

The skeleton couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, the flavour of it on the back of his tongue, lodged in his ribs. He gripped the soil in his bony fingers, turning back to look at the burning village.

 

An explosion. How many? How many had there been in their troops? How _many_ were there _left?_ Grillby was alive and relatively unscathed, but he was made of _fire._ Heat _melted_ some Monsters, it was a terrible, _terrible_ death. His thoughts suddenly slid to a living ice-woman, who had lived only a block down his street. He had bought ice-cream from her, on hot days. She had also been a prime pick for battle, her Magic strong in the right weather.

He choked. Every inhale carried particles of his _friends._ His _neighbours._

Grillby felt the skeleton’s shoulders curl inwards, and he too seemed to finally crack. The wild expression, manic and savage had faded, now replaced with an encompassing grief. The two of them were lingering candles in shadow, clutching at one another and suddenly feeling as though they were not adults at all, but children.

Gaster found his skeletal fingers bunching in Grillby’s uniform, the flames’ hands wrapping about his own shoulders.

Breathing in his ear, Grillby’s voice sounded ragged and raw over the pounding in Wingding’s head. 

“C’mon. We need to warn the others.”

 

Together, the two of them rose side by side. Gaster felt his Soul begin to pound, a darkness rising deep within himself. It felt like resolve, but heavier somehow. Feral. He wondered to himself if like a shared cloak, Grillby could feel it too. There was something dangerous thrumming in Gaster’s bones, humming in the back of his skull with the static and pain.

It seemed to be laughing at him, voice high in pitch and a red smile imprinting on the back of his eyelids.

Or perhaps that was just because he had struck his head. Truly, it was hard to tell.

They ran towards Mt Ebott, it standing as a singular claw reaching above the ash, grasping in vain for the sky.

 

****

The Mages made a loose ring of power, held off by a crescent divide of Monsters. To Gaster; it looked like the twin curvature of fingernails, one side Calibri and Candara, Helvetica, king Asgore and queen Toriel, the head officers that had survived the bombs in the village. The other side were the Humans, all glowing with Magic and their true power, _Determination._

 

It was a hellish image, and the battle was already well under way at the foot of the mountain. The air seemed to crackle electric, the sky overhead rumbling with ozone-laden thunder.

 

Inside the clouds, terrible shadows moved, gaping maws and glowing eyes taking Gaster’s breath away and causing him to hold Grillby back in horror. He knew what they were, intellectually speaking. His mother had the ability, though his father hadn’t.

He hadn’t known.

Couldn’t have _comprehended_ their size…

 

The bone-made blasters descended like wolves from the sky, two for each of his siblings. Their eyes glowed with respective Magic, pink, yellow and Helvetica’s trademark light green. It _hurt_ to look at them directly, they rumbled with such power.

Beside him, Grillby’s voice was low and breathless with awe and terror.

_“Holy… fuck.”_

They watched together in muted horror, seeing Calibri lift her skeletal hand in command. Her eyes blazed magenta, and with a cutting movement of her arm the blaster lunged, skeletal jaw unhinged wide. A moment before it was too late, Gaste lifted his hands to cover Grillby’s eyes. The resulting brightness turned the entire mountainside to white, like a clap of lightning.

With it, Asgore produced a glowing crimson trident. The lightning seemed to magnify, doubling in on itself like he held in his hands a dousing rod.

It struck out at the Mages, and Gaster thought to himself that this was _insane._

_Nothing._

**_Nothing could possibly survive such an attack._ **

****

Yet as the clouds of dust and rubble cleared, revealed trees that had been blackened and a deadened circle of grass, a dark red barrier glowed. The Humans stood in its centre, a small Mage holding up their hand. Their eyes glowed red with power, the golden halo of curls encircling their head seeming to shimmer in the dark.

Even from this distance, the final irony of the situation sunk deep into Gaster’s bones.

A child.

A child had managed to throw aside the strongest Magical attack Gaster had ever _seen_ with no more than a negligent flick of their hand.

 

For the first time, Gaster understood the true power of _Determination._ He felt nothing other than an overwhelming panic, a shout leaving his mouth as the child’s hand lowered, aiming for his family’s stunned silhouettes.

In the same moment Grillby’s arms encircled his waist, holding him back from running forward.

Gaster had no choice but to watch the attack, not a single shred of MERCY flickering in the Human’s eyes.

 

Tira’s hand rested on the child’s shoulder. Her voice seemed to carry, a cry of triumph for Humankind even as the very earth began to tremble beneath everyone’s feet.

**_“BACK TO THE UNDERGROUND FROM WHICH YOU CAME!”_ **

****

The chant was joined by the child, their voice high and clear. Red Magic spilled from their fingers, a crackling ball of energy that formed a dome around Gaster’s siblings.

****

**_“WE WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN.”_ **

****

The ground jolted and groaned, as if the Earth itself were being tipped on its side. Gaster fell, still screaming. Grillby was holding him in place, his arms digging into his sides and pressing him into the dirt. He was shouting, but Wingdings couldn’t hear.

 

The last thing he saw before his vision was washed in red light was Calibri. She had stepped in front of the other Monsters, tugging Candara and Helvetica along by their hands. Their linked digits formed a thin wall with their bodies, their Magic perfectly united as one.

A wall of bones began to climb up and around the Monsters they protected, reaching up through the sky.

 

Gaster watched, and saw Asgore turn to his people behind him with a desperate look in his eyes. He shouted something, but the words were voiceless, lost in the haze of static filling Gaster’s mind. He watched as Monsters turned and fled, hurrying towards the mouth of the cave. An entrance lay there, a gaping maw everyone but his immediate family hurled themselves towards.

The attack struck, and the wall of bones was blown into a million fragmented and shattered pieces.

The Human Mages were thrown backwards, their own Magic jarring them with its force.

 

At the same time, he felt a tearing sensation in his Soul, something jerking awake far too soon, far too viciously.

Grillby cursed in his ear, seeing the outline of a wolf-like skull beginning to form above them. It pulsed purple and black, angry and jagged. The flame did the only thing he could think of to stop it, his friend’s abilities unpredictable.

He struck Gaster across the head. _Hard._

 

Grillby caught the skeleton as he slumped, his previous head injury making it impossible for Gaster to fight. Above them, the blaster abruptly faded, called away with a lack of Magic to breathe it into existence. The dread that had been filling Grillby’s Soul eased with its disappearance, the creepy glow of its eye unsettling.

 

Gaster blacked out, agony pulsating through his head. The last thought he registered in his mind was that his throat felt raw and torn.

Screaming.

He must have screamed.

 

****

Heat.

Gaster drifted in warmth, cocooned in it in a way that made him feel as if he were wrapped up in a sling. Safety, softness enveloped him. It was like a hug, like someone was merely sleeping next to him, a body radiating comfort and life.

Something hurt, deep in the centre of his skull.

His thoughts shied away from the agony.

 

Instead he allowed himself to float, drifting amongst calculations that Gaster at once recognised and found foreign. They were theories, flickering shapes and mathematical equations. One was the formula for a circle, it whizzed past the curvature of a perfect Magical throw towards a target. The numbers blurred, interchanged. They formed a barrier about him, humming in the static-filled void he was hiding in. Stuck, he was stuck in this shuddering space of nothingness, left only with his equations and the strange warmth filling his chest. His Soul.

 

Strangely, he didn’t much mind. Here was safer. Here was quiet, there were no memories of past events, no knowledge of what had conspired to force him to withdraw in this way (don’t think about it. _Do NOT think about it too hard you’ll break and crack and fall apart-_ ).

Someone was calling his name.

 

Somebody came.

Reluctantly, Gaster forced himself to kick towards the surface, instead of deeper and deeper into the darkness.

A darker than dark void loomed below him, merely waiting for the next time he decided to fall into its depths.

 

****

Gaster opened his eyes to find himself staring up at a stone ceiling, the darkness still dim even if it did not compare to the blackness of his dream. He blinked slowly, disoriented and confused.

Somewhere, someone was holding his hand. His fingers twitched, and with the movement a face came into view.

 

“Dings,” Grillby breathed his name in relief, the sound muted but no longer unintelligible. It was dark, but the flame was a candle that illuminated Gaster’s surroundings.

The skeleton registered the vague fact that he appeared to be lying on a stretcher. Craning his neck, he saw that he was by far not the only one.

 

What appeared to be a handful of Monsters were all collected inside a wide cavern, approximately the size of a field. A high stone ceiling yawned overhead, stalactites dangling precariously up ahead in large, clustered groups. The space meant that the area carried an echo, and faint sounds of pain and suffering reverberated throughout the cavern, giving it an eerie and mournful atmosphere.

Gaster felt something anxious twist inside of him, realising that he was in a makeshift hospital. He lifted a tentative hand to his head, feeling that along with a good dose of Healing Magic, it had been bandaged heavily. He couldn’t see out of his right eye.

 

Grillby gently pulled his fingers away from the edges of the nasty crevice that ran through his skull, his expression guilty.

“I hit you pretty hard, and you were already injured. Best not to… make it worse.”

 

 ** _“You… hit me?”_** Gaster honestly didn’t remember the event, and he should have expected his words to come out in a familiar, jaw-grinding scramble of a code. Grillby almost smiled at the sound of it, gently reminding him. He seemed exhausted, but delighted that his friend was awake.

“Can’t understand you, Dings.”

“What happened?” The skeleton tried again, pleased to find that English came to him once more. Grillby grunted, leaning back to sit cross-legged at his bedside. He passed a hand along his face, seeming in that moment to be nearly a thousand years old. Gaster wondered if he had lost sleep because of him.

The silence dragged, and the as it went on, the skeleton’s hopes were dragged with it.

 

Slowly, as if he were afraid that Gaster might blow away with an errant breeze, Grillby took the skeleton’s hand.

“G,” He began, and that’s how Gaster knew it was serious. Grillby hardly ever used anything but _‘Dings’_ when addressing him. The flame peered at him out of the corner of his eye, shoulders hunched as if bracing for impact.

“The Humans… They chased us down here. There’s a lot of wounded… some…” He stopped, his and he seemed to swallow before roughly pushing on “Asgore and Toriel went to the entrance of the mountain a little while ago, to see if the Humans were giving chase. They’ve… Gaster we’re…”

 

Gaster watched as Grillby’s flame flickered, so low it almost looked like a stiff wind might douse his light forever. It was a dying ember, instead of his normal flaming cheer.

“We’re stuck down here. The Mages… they made a barrier. Some kind of wall at the entrance of the mountain.”  

The flame whispered, staring down at his hands. Gaster felt something heavy begin to press onto his Soul, a weight that would not leave. The static in his head began anew, crackling distantly. He blinked, and in that moment of darkness he saw Calibri, pulling herself and her siblings directly into the line of fire.

The static sounded like it was whispering, cackling at him.

**_They’re dead._ **

 

A shudder tore through him, violent and ill. Gaster gasped, clutching at his head. The crack along his skull throbbed, red washing over his vision. Sitting up so abruptly as he had, Grillby was quick to raise his arms up to steady him.

Gaster’s voice was low, a muttering sound. Yet the flame heard it clearly, and he felt ice in his veins despite the fact that he had never been cold before a day in his life.

 

“Calibri… Candara… Helvetica. My mom and dad. Where are they?”

“Gaster,” Grillby murmured, tone strained, attempting a horrible façade of complacency. Gaster wasn’t having it.

 _“Where are they?”_ He snarled, uncaring as a few other Monsters jumped in their stretchers about them. His voice carried in the cave, accusation ringing out again and again until it faded into nothingness.  

 

Grillby looked sick with guilt and grief. His hands still hovered over Gaster, not wanting to touch but not wanting the skeleton to injure himself further. In that moment, the flame thought his friend looked like he was made of razor-sharp angles, angry and scared.

“The healer said you needed to stay calm… I can’t tell you if you can’t stay calm.” He sounded defeated.

 

“I am calm,” Gaster murmured, and it was true that he _was._ He wasn’t shouting, a strange numbness had overcome his body. It felt almost as if the gravity of the mountain itself were crushing him, dampening his emotions. In his lap, his hands trembled. Skeletal fingers wove themselves together, gripping tightly. “I _am_ calm.” He repeated, as if stating the fact aloud would somehow make it more true.

The last words he had said to his brother had been out of anger.

The last time he had seen his sisters, they had been annihilated by Magic as red as Human blood.

 

 _“Dings,”_ Grillby whispered. His flaming hands found Gaster’s, prying his hands apart before he could do damage to himself. “I’m sorry.”

The skeleton barely seemed to hear him.

 

Somewhere further in the cave, a child wailed over a jar of Dust given to them by a healer.

The howling of the small rabbit Monster resonated in Gaster’s skull. He could feel his own Soul crying with it.

Above them, the uncaring mountain slept on, oblivious to the pain it housed that endless night.


	5. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey look I made [ Art for this chapter](http://bluejaysart.tumblr.com/post/145722644589/im-not-gonna-make-fanart-for-my-own-fic-i-say) .
> 
> I enjoy learning how to make things glow in photoshop, and Souls and fire Monsters are ideal for that :P  
> This is also where I ask my readers if they have prompts. this fic has a main storyline, but I'm going to be adding in lots of fluff in between. The prompts can also have Sans and Papyrus in them, as we'll be meeting them soon in the chapters to come :D
> 
> Thank you so much for reading as always!

 

 

**LOG DATE: SAVE FILE FOUR: YEAR- (REDACTED)**

Gaster could recall the first time he considered the possibility of other timelines, of going back and fixing the wrongs done.

The idea came to him during those long weeks where he was bedridden, when there was nothing to stare at but the darkness of the cavern ceiling, no one to talk to except for Grillby and a smattering of other Monsters. It kept his mind occupied while his body healed, while he ignored the numbness that had settled itself deep into his Soul.

 

He thought of bubbles, all separate worlds but bearing a likeness to one another, floating side by side. Were they connected by a thread? Some invisible line that one only needed to pluck in order to hear its vibrations? Like a string of pearls, if he tugged on one then would the others shift, the fate of them changed? It was an interesting question, one that required some complicated math that he wrote out on whatever paper he could scrounge from the Healers. Instead of sleeping, he could often be found hunched over formulas, humming to himself at the notion of time travel. He alternated wildly between believing it was entirely possible, and despairing that his own brain was merely trying to find an exit to the trauma he had suffered.

How much of this potential idea was backed with actual scientific relevance, and not just based on his own desperate wish that he could change fate?

 

The healer informed him about the third week straight of check-ups and bed rest that they’d done all they could for his head injury. Unravelling the bandages that had bound his skull for such a long time, Gaster looked into a mirror and saw the jagged scar that was now permanently part of his features. It was an ugly thing, running deep and cutting into his eye. He was lucky that his vision wasn’t permanently impaired.

The tinnitus came and went as it pleased, and it made walking difficult, his balance thrown off centre. He often forgot which direction he was going, or where exactly he was. It was humiliating, terrifying and what’s more, inconvenient.

For the first little while, Gaster didn’t leave the sick bay for long, not wanting anyone else to see him this way, confused and frustrated with his body’s betrayal.  

 

Grillby was the one exception to the rule, and even then it was only because the flame was rather stubborn. Initially, Gaster had tried to push Grillby away too, but he found the task a lot more challenging than one might expect it to be at a glance. Grillby was completely shameless in bribing his way into entry of the cavern, bringing the Healers fresh bandages, supplies and sweets for the younger patients. Anything he could scrounge so that he could spend some time with Gaster, he did. Even when the skeleton made it clear he didn’t want company, the flame showed up. Gaster found it very hard to be alone. Even when he tried to be offensive, it came across as somehow flat and weak.

 

“I hate you,” Gaster tried one time when Grillby came to visit. The flame Monster merely hummed in a way that indicated he wasn’t really convinced, barely looking up from the book he was reading. Admittedly, the effect was rather ruined by the skeleton’s current position, his head tucked against Grillby’s leg, curled about him like a great cat. His Soul, a treacherous little thing lately, fluttered when he looked at the smile on the flame’s face.

Gaster scowled, trying to put some steel into his voice. “No really. I hate you.”

One of Grillby’s hands patted the skeleton’s face gently. They were mindful of his scar, careful not to touch the heavy bandages covering it. Gaster sighed, bitter that when it came down to it, he couldn’t even make a meaningful threat.

 

It was probably for the best.

He told himself this when his hands itched to hit something, or when he felt ugly words rear their head, hovering in the back of his throat. They were barbs, sticky and terrible and lingering in his head even long after he felt bad about their creation.

He knew something was broken inside of him. He chose not to look at it too closely, only too aware of what his Soul looked like. How could someone still exist, when it felt like a part of their physical being had been torn from them? Everything _ached_ with trying to forget faces he’d never see again, until Gaster was left trembling and shaking, the rattle of his bones loud in the oppressive darkness that was the damn mountain.

He hated it.

He hated himself for being alive when his brother and sisters didn’t get that right.

 

 

****

 

Slowly, like trudging through black mud, the Monsters started to adjust to their new surroundings.

Asgore had decreed the bad news: that they were trapped under the mountain. He had made a plea for calm, urging those who were physically able to aid the injured, the old and the young through these hard times. A plan for tentative construction was already underway, Gerson having returned from a scouting mission. The old turtle claimed that there was plenty of space, even if some of the areas would be inhospitable for certain kinds of Monsters. He spoke of lava-filled caverns, and an area where fresh water poured from rocky ledges.

The Monsters were comforted, if only a little. At least they wouldn’t all be crammed here together in the darkness, with no goals or directions to guide them. Like a lamp, hope began to shine a way for them towards a brighter future.

 

****

 

It was nearly three weeks before Gaster was allowed other guests, and the skeleton found himself surprised to have a royal audience in the sick-bay when he returned from his daily walk around the darkened caverns with Grillby.

The king and queen both were pictures of exhaustion, and yet they still radiated power as they stood, waiting for him. Asgore had seemed to age nearly a hundred years in only a few short weeks. He wasn’t an old Monster, not by far, yet he looked at Gaster with a world-weary expression that Wingdings knew he mirrored.

 

He had been leaning against Grillby’s shoulder, his balance still off, but now Gaster straightened. He lifted his chin high as he walked as best as he could towards Asgore, forcing the king to look him in the eye. Asgore held his gaze, his expression a combination of mournful and weighted. Beside him, the queen seemed to take in his injuries and wince.

 

“Your majesties.” Gaster spoke carefully, trying to make sure his speech was not too stuttering or shifting into Wingdings. He held out a hand to shake, Asgore’s massive paw after a moment engulfing his skeletal fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gaster saw Grillby shift beside him. The flame’s colour was crackling somewhat brighter than usual, and it took Gaster a moment to recognise the emotion for what it was- Carefully concealed anger on his behalf.

 

“It is good to see that you are looking better, Gaster,” Asgore murmured. His deep voice was the kind that tended to always sound methodical, even when he was speaking of inane things. “I only wish that I could come to you under better circumstances.”

“What is it?”

Asgore seemed to shift, one moment a rather melancholy Monster, the next a king, a ruler. It was a palpable change in demeanour.

“I will not pretend that you don’t have a right to be resentful towards me, or a right to be upset over the loss of your family,” He seemed to take a deep breath, and Gaster felt his hands slowly curl at his sides. “However, I will not also deny that Monsterkind needs your help. I’m told you are as skilled as your sister was, when it comes to science and problem-solving.”

 

Gaster neither acknowledged the compliment nor sneered at it, merely seeming to consider the idea that he might be anywhere near Calibri’s intelligence. The raw, mental wound that bled when he thought her name was something he only barely gave thought to.

 

“My friend’s been through extreme trauma, and you come to ask him to _help_ you?” Where Wingdings didn’t have much to say, Grillby seemed to make up for it. The flame’s expression was heated as he glared at the king, seeming to ignore his rank in favour of his indignation.

Asgore frowned, looking apologetic but firm.

“I am aware that what you have both gone through has been… unbelievably tough. However, Grillby… I do believe it is Gaster’s decision whether or not to accept my offer.”

“And just what _is_ your offer?” The skeleton interrupted, before his friend could get a word in edgewise. It would not do for Grillby to go and seriously offend Asgore. Though the king was a kind Soul, he was still a Boss Monster. The skeleton would never want his friend to wind up on the wrong side of an argument, just from defending him.

Gaster’s cracked face was peering up at the king keenly, the beginnings of an idea churning away at the back of his mind.

“A position as the official Royal Scientist of Monsterkind, and in direct correlation access to any resources you may need to better the lives of the citizens within my rule. I would also throw in a place to live, in exchange for your presence in a convenient location.”

 

Gaster hummed to himself. It was no small deal, to be offered such a thing in such times of hardships. With no family, he had no others besides Grillby and the other flame Monsters within his clan to turn to. This offered an independence, something the skeleton found himself sorely lacking in, as of late.

He thought long and hard about the kind of “resources” the king might be able to get him, and he thought about the horrors he had witnessed. A job that’s end goal was to make the lives of Monsters easier? Not to mention the resources to pursue more… _Personal_ projects… It sounded like a dream, something intangible and delicate, hung in a spider web.

He clung to it, snatching at it like a bright light at the end of a yawning cavern.

 

“I do believe we have a deal.” Gaster murmured, extending his hand in offering. Asgore’s massive paw engulfed it, a smile on the king’s face breaking over his previously sad expression. It looked like dawn peeking out from grey clouds.

“Thank you. I do believe that if we don’t lose hope, we can still manage to do great things, even in these dark times.”

 

Gaster ignored Grillby’s worried glance. He fixed a smile on his face, false and cheerful for Asgore, and watched as he and the queen quietly departed. He knew how to play a part, and he would if it meant that he could have access to a lab, to a new beginning.

The ringing in his ears sounded like laughter.

 

****

As the months passed, Monsters began to collaborate and gather themselves into something more organised. Tents began to make way for houses, and exploration was made on a quest for water, food and sunlight.

The first two were found, but the last…

Well, instead they found the artificial glow of luminous stones.

 

Hotland was built first, named aptly due to its volatile climate. Fire Monsters were drawn to it, and Water Monsters feared it. With it, Gaster began to sketch out blueprints for a way to convert all of that heat into something more than just lava. If there was no light down here, then Monsters would need power.

Days were spent working, and with Grillby.

 

Nights… well. Nights were spent fighting off nightmares.

 

Until a home could be made for him, Gaster was forced to crash in his friend’s tent. His own he had never gotten around to making, as he had been too weak for the first few weeks to even attempt Magic.

 

Though the tent was relatively spacious, it left little privacy. Both Monsters had learned the hard way that they were apparently prone to night terrors now, and more than once they had woken the other with crying or shouting.

 

Gaster’s were always the same. He would dream he was trying to chase after one of his siblings, sometimes as a child, sometimes an adult. The game of chase would eventually morph into panicked running, unable to catch the elusive figure ahead. In these dreams, Gaster couldn’t speak, and darkness would always encroach until there was nothing left but blackness.

A giant, horned skull would eventually begin to chase _him._ Its eyes burned purple, and from its fanged maw a white-hot glow would burn. He’d taste ash in the back of his mouth and his ears would buzz, louder and louder like a thousand wasps.

 

Grillby didn’t say what his dreams were about, he didn’t have to. Unlike Gaster, the flame had come away from the battle with EXP. When Wingding would wake to find the flame hunched in his sleeping roll, he did the only thing he could think of. He’d sit by Grillby’s side in the dark, waiting for the Monster to notice his movement. Sometimes, it’d take a while, and sometimes the flame tracked Gaster, hypervigilance making him a coiled spring.

They sometimes talked.

Mostly, they merely sat in each other’s general proximity, Gaster leaning into the warmth of Grillby’s presence, his friend brushing his broader shoulders against his own. Gaster would often work on his blueprints during these quiet times, or write out half-thought of theories in a leather-bound journal that someone had salvaged for him. Grillby in turn would read if there was reading material to be had. If not, he’d hum old lullabies, or haltingly speak of what he’d do once this whole “Barrier” mess was resolved. It was still too new of an imprisonment, to wholly believe that it couldn’t be broken. Neither of them dared to crush that faith in the other.

 

It was an organic connection that they had, something neither of them had entirely intended to make. It felt fragile and tentative, and so only appeared when the only light came from Grillby’s body, when they were the only two in a room.

 

That didn’t mean it didn’t have potential, or that Gaster wasn’t aware of the direction his thoughts had begun to take in regards to his friend. In a way it was flattering, catching the way Grillby sometimes looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

He just wished it hadn’t happened at this particular time, in this way. Not when his Soul in many ways was  jaggedly broken with grief for his family, his race of Monster. Not when Grillby was going through their own hardships, lost friends and nightmares.

 

****

Hotland grew, beginning to resemble an actual city. This was greatly thanks to the frameworks of a town that had been constructed, the best Magic-users called to bring to life buildings and homes.

A castle was constructed only after the rest of the Monsters that found the lava-land pleasant could live comfortably, and this meant that Gaster and Grillby soon found themselves sharing a small home with Flint and Grillby’s father.

 

It was not unpleasant, though Flint was less quiet than his younger brother, and more prone towards theatrics. The older of the brothers was a bright green flame, and his voice could often be heard booming throughout the house, even when he was speaking normally. He also liked to tease Gaster somewhat mercilessly, known to smirk whenever he caught the skeleton being just a little _too_ friendly with his brother.

He was a good Monster, and Wingding found some peace in that home despite the familial bickering and the crowded walls. It kept the noise of his own mind muted, and reminded him of a time when he too, had a family to call his own.

 

It meant though, that he found little time alone to focus on The Core project. This was… an issue.

 _“You’ll have to catch me if you want them.”_ Flint’s voice echoed upstairs, boasting good-naturedly. Grillby was fighting him for fire-cookies, it seemed.

Gaster leaned more closely towards his blueprints. It appeared the greatest issue with creating a machine that would manipulate thermodynamics into energy was overheating. In Hotland that wasn’t exactly an uncommon problem. Maybe if he tweaked the materials used? Something that wasn’t too insulating-

_“Flint you bastard, stay still so I can torch you.”_

Grillby’s voice caused Gaster to lose his train of thought, the skeleton frowning. He gripped his pen a little bit more tightly, sighing while trying to focus. He could create a cooling mechanism? Some kind of system that could provide cold air or ice to cool the machine as it worked. Yes, yes that-

A large thud rattled the house, followed by the sound of smashing plates. Grillby’s dad shouted something warningly at his sons.

 

Gaster put his head in his hands, growling to himself. He scribbled out the large ink streak he had accidentally made across the page of his journal. Out. He needed out of here, away to somewhere quiet where he could _think._

Pushing himself up from his desk, the skeleton resolved himself to ask Asgore about how much effort it would take to make a workspace he could access. A lab.

 

Above him, the wooden floorboards creaked restlessly under loud feet. Grillby was singing, some stupid song that was taunting his brother into action. His voice was a melodious tenor, not terribly skilled but bearing good instincts for hitting the right key.

Against his will, Gaster found a rather foolish grin crawling across his features. The skeleton wiped the expression away with a brush of his hand.

Still, his Soul felt lighter for it.

 

****

Sometimes, neither Grillby nor Gaster could convince themselves to get out of bed. This was a problem Grillby experienced more, Gaster tended towards insomnia (an effort to avoid the skeletal demon that chased him in his nightmares).

 

It so happened one particular day that Flint and Grillby’s father had left very early in the morning in order to see the opening of the first market since being trapped Underground (being temporarily held in the royal hall). Gaster had brushed them politely off, citing that he’d wait for his friend to wake up before going to join them. In truth, he wanted to get a few more hours in on The Core.

Except that the morning came and passed, and then the afternoon… and Grillby had yet to make it out of his room.

 

Gaster was prone to distraction, but now he felt the beginnings of unease work through his body as he glanced up at the small clock on the mantel. Seated as he was on the couch, the silence in the house was deafening (heh, _deafening._ He still struggled to hear…) only marred by the ticking of the second hand. The skeleton shifted, glancing towards Grillby’s bedroom. He had been careful not to intrude since a home had been made for the flame family, conscious of all that they had done for him.

Yet the thought of Grillby dealing with something like the nightmares Gaster himself experienced… it sent a pang through Wingding’s chest that was hard to ignore. He rung his hands together, indecisive.

 

He rose from the couch, the sleeves of his habitual white turtleneck clenched in his palms. Gaster tentatively rapped his knuckles against the closed door, calling out Grillby’s name. The lack of answer sat cold in the skeleton’s stomach. He didn’t feel bad for entering anyway, sudden anxiety making it a necessary thing to check in, to make sure Grillby was ok.

 

The shaft of light from the hallways illuminated a lump in bed, covered up by blankets. Grillby’s flame was a dull, ruddy colour, and it looked lower than normal. He was less of a torch, and more of a guttering candle, flecks of blue and purple occasionally running through him. The sight worried Gaster, he crept slowly forward.

His friend was awake, but the flame was staring blankly at the wall. Grillby didn’t acknowledge the skeleton’s presence, but his arms which were looped about his knees tightened fractionally as the door opened.

 

Gaster made his way to the edge of the bed, his fingers flexing at his sides in uncertainty. During night, the edges of their relationship usually blurred, but in broad daylight (well, relatively speaking, given their underground status) it seemed somehow taboo to broach that thin line of personal space normally kept.

Still, something needed to be said.

 

He shuffled in place a moment longer before acting, Gaster gingerly seating himself upon the edge of the bed. His voice sounded loud in the silence of the house, and the back of his neck tingled with Grillby’s Magic, stronger with his distress.

“Are…you alright?” The skeleton asked, already knowing the answer. Wordlessly, Grillby shook his head. The flame’s fingers were knotted in the front of his own shirt, over his chest. Something about the sight of it made Gaster’s own chest squeeze in sympathy. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, unsurprised when his friend again merely shook his head. The flame’s body flickered blue-orange.

Grillby’s voice was hoarse, like ash floating into the air as the house echoed and groaned about them.

“It’s… it’s stupid. I just… dreams. Stupid dreams,” He seemed guilty, as if he was disgusted with his own fear. “I… some of them didn’t even really happen. My brain just likes… it’s like it wants to torture me. Everyone’s fine, I came out fucking _lucky_ compared to… compared to others.” The flame finished lamely, unable to quite vocalise Gaster’s own pain aloud. He curled more tightly into a ball, frowning to himself. “I hate this. I hate it, because I _still have_ my family. I still have my best friend and I have no _right to-_ ”

Grillby’s jaw clenched, his anger cutting off as he silenced himself. His flame was dark red, embarrassed and angry.

Silence stretched between them awhile as the skeleton gathered his thoughts, clenching and unclenching his fingers in his lap. His friend for so long now had been an unshakable light, a beacon of positivity in Gaster’s world. Grillby never failed to smile, to work towards happiness if he thought others were watching. For the first time, the skeleton wondered if the effort was always entirely genuine. It made Gaster’s insides twist, to think that Grillby thought himself not allowed to express anger, to express regret. He had certainly never meant to fail him, yet it appeared already he had. He had been so focused as of late on his projects, on himself, that he had ignored the flame’s own emotional state.

 

Eventually, Grillby sighed. His voice was near inaudible, but still Gaster could hear him. The weight of the flame’s sorrow was palpable.

“I’m sorry, Dings.”

 

_No. I’m sorry. For not realising how much pain you were in while I was wallowing in my own grief._

 

“M-me too,” Gaster whispered back, the stutter to be expected with his nerves. The skeleton didn’t look up from his hands when Grillby looked at him in surprise, but there was a smile on his marred features. It was soft, melancholy. “It’s a t-t-terrible thing, to have your head turn on you. I dream sometimes…” He trailed off, the names of his siblings feeling like they were edged in barbs as he forced them from his lips. “I dream that it’s not Calibri standing in front of me. It’s you, and you’re not strong enough to stop the Humans. I dream my brother picked me up from the blast site, or that I lose my eye permanently. I d-dream... _so many_ things that never happened.”

 

He took a shaky breath, the sound surprisingly wet. Gaster blinked, wondering if the room was blurring or if that was just the moisture gathering at the corner of his eye sockets. He rubbed at them furiously, turning to Grillby a moment later. Gaster’s voice was gentle, but he made sure to meet his friend’s gaze.

“You c-c-cannot compare your own wellbeing to another’s, not with this. This war has damaged everyone, both physically and mentally. Y-you’re allowed to be afraid, to be _s-sad,_ ” He hadn’t made a speech like this in so long, the tic of his voice and his own self-consciousness forbidding it. Still Gaster pressed forward, determined to finish his train of thought. “I f-forbid it. You can’t push aside your own feelings j-just to keep me h-h-happy.”

 

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it, though. Friends don’t dump all of their problems on each other.” Grillby muttered, and Gaster now frowned outright. He growled something likely offensive under his breath in Wingdings over the flame’s stubborn nature. Honestly, the _blindness_ of some Monsters!

 

Gaster grabbed Grillby’s shoulder, yanking him upright while the flame could only sputter in protest. Grillby watched warily as his friend drew near, closer than either of the two had dared to be before. The pinpricks of Gaster’s eyes were large and serious, and skeletal fingers pulled the flame’s hand until it rested against his bony sternum.

Grillby’s breath caught, realising a moment too late what Gaster’s intentions were.

 

He watched, transfixed and strangely helpless as Wingding’s eyes slipped shut, his Soul drawing outwards from himself until it floated against Grillby’s palm. The flame couldn’t help but stare, blushing furiously in spite of himself. To bare one’s Soul to another was an undeniable act of intimacy, and Grillby found himself staring at a beautiful but damaged thing.

 

The cartoonish, glowing heart before him was a deep indigo-violet, the same colour as Gaster’s Magic. It pulsed, thrumming with life as it floated against the flame’s hand. Hairline chips and cracks, silver-white and fragile, had marked it. They were not unexpected, A Monster losing their family usually caused physical damage. Yet the sight was unexpectedly painful for Grillby to witness, and he swallowed hard past a sudden lump in his throat.

Gaster’s fingers rested against the back of his hand, the skeleton’s voice quiet but unshakable as stone.

“It was worse, when I woke up in the sick bay. I was t-told when you were away… The Healer wasn’t sure I’d be up and walking at all, if I even woke. But it mended, Grillby. It’s been trying to heal, every time you’ve forced me towards getting better, towards s-sleeping and eating and _working_ ,” Gaster laughed, the sound a helpless chuckle of bewilderment. “S-sometimes, when you smile at me, the stupid thing _glows_ inside of me. Please, understand.”

 

Impossibly, the flame thought he did. Giving plenty of time for Gaster to refuse him, Grillby dipped his hand towards the floating heart. Gaster’s Soul drifted towards him, a balloon drawn to an invisible tether.

They both jolted upon connection, Grillby feeling an indescribable warmth flow from his fingertips, up his elbow, towards his chest. A wave of emotions swam before the flame, not his own but intimately familiar. Curiosity, drive, affection. The things that intimately made up _Gaster._ It was like holding onto a live wire, yet instead of being electrically shocked, he was becoming one with the current.

It was without thinking his own Soul fluttered, beginning to pulse in kind.

 

“I’m not… I never have the right words, to explain.” Grillby murmured, wondering if he breathed wrongly if this dream-like state might end. Gaster looked at him, amusement crinkling across his skull. A violet flush had begun to glow from within him, his fingers reaching out to press against the flame’s chest.

 ** _“Show me, then.”_** He replied, slipping into Wingdings. To his surprise and delight, Grillby found that he could understand as he held the Soul before him.

 

His own Soul unfurled slowly, a candle in the dark, burning deep orange. A brave little heart, it drifted immediately into Gaster’s waiting hands. The skeleton felt its kindness as he brushed it, its quiet and unwavering loyalty. He felt its EXP, gained in battles he was not present for. He felt the weight of that choice heavy in his mind and he hushed it, gently stroking over the Soul’s light with his fingers.

In kind, he felt light enter the cracks of his Soul, breathing warmth into the chill that had seemed to take up residence in his bones since Monsterkind had fallen.

They sat together like that for some time in the dark of Grillby’s bedroom, merely getting to know one another’s Soul.

 

Together, then. Whatever the future held in store for them, let it be dealt with together.

If either of them found themselves unable to cope, they wouldn’t be alone any more. Someone would come.

Somebody always came.


	6. The Barrier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and plot~
> 
> Next chapter: A date in Snowdin, and a talk about moving in together. ^_^  
> Once again, let me know if there is something you would like to see in this story~
> 
> If you want to follow my updates, you can find my tumblr at: http://twistedthicket1.tumblr.com/

 

**LOG DATE: SAVE FILE FIVE: YEAR- (REDACTED)**

 

It was a clean, if dimly-lit space that Gaster was introduced to as the groundwork for his lab, almost a month after he and Grillby had shared Souls. It looked like the sort of building that would emit a kind of cheery, electronic tune if it could, everything made of crisp lines and white walls. There was an upper and a lower floor, and the upper was used to store mostly meals and shelves of texts. Gaster fell in love with it instantly, something about having a space of his own appealing to him deep within his Soul.

 

He swiftly began to fill it with the things that interested him or that he loved, namely books, experiments, and objects that reminded him of Grillby. The skeleton was distressed to find that he was very much turning into _that_ kind of significant other, the sort that kept photographs of his partner wherever he thought he could get away with it.

 

Grillby was camera shy, but Gaster had managed to find a few disposable cameras in the (recently discovered) trash falls, and he had taken every chance to snap photos. Most were impromptu, and so blurry and organic, but Gaster found in between experiments and schematics his eyes were drawn to them. A part of him still couldn’t believe it, that _he_ could be so lucky to have the flame in his life. He’d chatter to anyone who’d listen about it, even in spite of his stutter, and despite of his shyness towards strangers. He couldn’t help it, much like he couldn’t help but talk about black holes or theories about parallel worlds.

 

Grillby thought it cute, though when he said as much Gaster had blushed vivid purple and refused to speak to him for the rest of the evening. The flame was a lot more affectionate in private, tending towards reserved where his partner spilled his affections openly like a bleeding heart. It flustered Grillby, but at the same time he couldn’t help but feel cherished. Gaster never made his emotions towards him unclear.

Evenings spent together were filled with being curled up next to one another on the beaten-down sofa, Gaster normally reading while Grillby was content just to sit with him, to listen to him mumble to himself over the plot of whatever book it was that day. The flame would often run his hands along the conch of Gaster’s temple, or look at the page over his shoulder, following the shape of the words rather than their plot.

Both of them were happy with the other, even if around them things began to grow complicated.

 

The Core was a massive project, and it took lots of Magic and skill to begin the process of building it. Gaster; the parent to this giant, mechanical baby, was constantly on his feet, running around and making sure that nothing blew up (sometimes quite literally) in his face. He was early to rise and late to come home, but always found a space made for him in Grillby’s bed should he linger too long at the lab. It was new feeling, not having to keep up the pretence of enjoying sleeping alone.

The skeleton took to it joyfully, finding the flame at once a convenient night-light and a warm pillow to hug in his sleep. If Gaster stopped for too long to think about how often he woke up using Grillby as a living space heater, he tended towards mortification.

 

Things were good despite the hectic schedule, and they only seemed to get better as Grillby too, started to find his place in the Underground. At first, many ex-soldiers came to the flame to ask him if he wanted a place in the newly-found “Royal Guard”. It would have been a position of honour, given his soldierly status. Yet Grillby refused time and time again, first politely then more firm. He privately admitted to Gaster that he felt he had “More Than Enough” EXP to his name. He had lost his will to fight, and so he had to find another outlet, something to keep his spark of interest.

 

It was one day while Gaster was wandering the grounds of Waterfall (a city that was in the process of being made into a home for the more aquatically-inclined Monsters) that a solution was found.

The skeleton liked this place, it was quiet and calm, and the rushing water made a muted background noise that proved to be good for thinking. Even more stunning, there was a cave that glowed in this maddening darkness. Filled to the brim with crystals, Gaster had looked up at the ceiling and felt a pang of longing squeeze his chest. For a moment, he thought of the sky, and thought of how much Grillby would like this place. The flame couldn’t enter Waterfall though, not safely at least, so it was a wish that was made for only the cavern to hear.

 

He had wandered to his usual haunt, the Trash Falls often bearing interesting paraphernalia and knickknacks. In the beginning, it had been what had saved Monsters- it was also frequently filled with food (though it sometimes wasn’t of the best quality). Though it was ugly in appearance, the scientist in Gaster was fascinated by the mechanics of trash falling into the mountain from above. Where did it come from? Was there another way out? The possibilities seemed worth looking into, even if trying to scale the falls was a foolhardy, dangerous notion.

 

The skeleton that day was looking for something in particular. Why he thought he would find one here he didn’t know, but he figured that if there existed anything like it in the Underground, it’d be in this wasteland of Human trash and debris. Gaster picked his way along carefully, minding his tenuous balance and seeking out anything rectangular and book-like in shape. Even a scroll would do, or some parchment.

 

Soon the pinpricks of his eyes landed on a stained, leather-bound cover. Books often didn’t survive the falls, their pages getting soaked through or their ink running. It made any books the Monsters _could_ find all the more valuable. This however wasn’t a text or a tome, but a journal. Gaster’s cracked features grinned in triumph. He plucked the book from its spot, noting in satisfaction that it had managed to stay relatively dry, hidden by both its cover and an overhanging ledge. Flipping through it, the skeleton found milk-white pages staring back at him, as if waiting to be filled.

It was perfect.

 

****

Grillby was almost used to the way his partner slammed open doors when he was overly excited. Gaster was a ball of energy when rolling, filling with life and vibrancy. Doors were only a hindrance to this light, a mild inconvenience to him. The flame only jumped slightly when Gaster came barrelling into the house, cheerfully calling his name. From the basement, Flint could be heard as he smashed his head against something in surprise at the skeleton’s noisy entrance.

The muttered cursing was drowned out by Gaster’s triumphant rambling.

“I have it!” He crowed, knocking over a perfectly innocent chair in his haste to get to Grillby’s side.

 

The flame looked up from where he had been frowning over a bowl of cookie dough, watching in amusement and slight concern as his partner scrambled back up to his feet. Gaster was animatedly signing (for sometimes it was easier to make symbols than verbalize what he was trying to say) and speaking, his stutter making him impossible to understand yet no less enthusiastic. There was a kind of sweetness about him when he was like this, and Grillby had a crackling smile crawling across his face even as he eyed what the skeleton had brought to show him.

 

A simple, leather-bound journal lay in Gaster’s hands, soon placed on the counter before Grillby. The flame looked at it curiously, noting the slightly cracked spine and the worn edges of the pages. His partner signed before him, simple symbols that Grillby had been working on trying to learn. It was a hodge-podge of hand signals, some from the Surface and some from Gaster’s own imagination. It was often hard to follow, but these two signs the flame knew well.

Gaster’s forefingers made hooks, and he flicked his wrists sharply towards Grillby.

_Gift._

He then used a sign he had made up for his partner, wiggling his fingers in front of himself for ‘ _Flame’_ and then crossing his arms over his chest for _‘Love’._

“A present for me?” Grillby translated, and Gaster nodded happily at being understood. He opened the journal, where already he had scratched in Wingdings a message for Grillby.

“F-For r-recipes,” The skeleton explained, translating the symbols aloud. “Y-you’ve been h-h-having trouble r-reading lately a-and since s-spectacles are r-are-“

“-You got me a journal so I could write down the recipe in a larger font.” Grillby breathed, touched beyond words. Gaster beamed down at him, and the flame couldn’t help himself as he cupped the back of the skeleton’s neck, dragging him down to his height for a quick kiss. Gaster went easily enough, a pleased chirp of surprise leaving his mouth.

 

When they separated, Grillby’s flame burned a touch more brightly than normal. He seemed both pleased and flustered, though a suspicious glint lingered in his eye. He looked up at Gaster, a faintly wry note entering his tone as he noted the violet flush still lingering on the skeleton’s cheeks.

“So, what’s the catch?” He asked, an amused smirk sneaking across his face when Gaster feigned indignation.

 _“Can I not do something nice for my partner without there being a catch?”_ The skeleton signed, exaggerating and slowing down his signs so that Grillby might read them. Grillby sighed, his fingers smoothing out the collar of Gaster’s lab-coat. He still hadn’t taken it off yet since he’d gotten the job, it seemed.

 

“Dings, Asgore already sent a messenger on your behalf. I know you’re going to have to spend a few days at the lab for research.”

Gaster deflated slightly, a vaguely guilty expression crossing his features.

“O-oh.” He mumbled, but then quickly returned to signing, this time a little more frantically.

_“To be fair I also got it because you were saying that you wanted to start cooking for people? For a job. A chef needs a cookbook after all! And… and I’ll only be gone for a few days, and I promise after we can do something nice together. It’s just I’m really close to a new breakthrough with The Core and there’s this new theory that Magic could be the answer to our problems, and-”_

Grillby caught Gaster’s hands in his own flaming palms, hushing the onslaught of information. Gently, but firmly, he levelled the skeleton with a look of annoyed acceptance.

“It’s alright, Dings. I know this stuff is fascinating to you, and I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work. You’re doing great things for the people under this mountain,” His expression softened then, and Grillby looked down at their intertwined hands. “So long as you promise to take some time off after, I don’t mind. It just gets lonely, after a while.”

 

Gaster smiled then, unable to resist the urge to brush his bony fingers against Grillby’s cheek. Carefully, he signed.

_“Three days, yes? In three days, we’ll go together and explore. I hear that a new town is starting to appear. Monsters there are calling it “Snowdin”. It’s apparently quite charming, and the River Person’s set up shop so you won’t even have to navigate Waterfall to get to it.”_

Grillby returned his smile, this time more easily. Embracing Wingdings, he pulled away to begin rolling the neglected cookie batter out onto a baking sheet.

“Remember to eat every few hours!” He called out as an afterthought at the skeleton, eyeing Gaster’s rail-like frame worriedly. Could skeleton Monsters even lose weight? Grillby admitted privately to himself even he didn’t know. The scientist waved in acknowledgement of the statement, already gathering his files and folders, which were scattered about the house. His eyes were bright lights, distracted already with his own thoughts. Gaster left the house muttering to himself in Wingdings, leaving behind a silence that lingered.

 

Grillby sighed when he left, shaking his head.

“What am I going to do with you?” He asked the empty air. The flame tapped his fingers uneasily against the counter.

From down in the basement, his brother shouted up.

“You could tie him to the bed! But then again he might like that a little _too_ much!”

_“FLINT!”_

Grillby winced at his father’s roar, coming from the hallway. He huffed to himself, even as he grabbed the baking sheet, preparing to use his Magic.

“Just for that, no cookies for you!” He retorted, flames glowing like hot coals from his hands.

 

Flint whined something unintelligible below the floorboards.

 

****

In truth, Gaster had told his partner a partial falsehood. Though he _was_ needed at his lab for the next couple of days, the project he was working on for Asgore was a tad more… _sensitive_ in nature than The Core. The king had made it expressly clear that no one was to know just yet about this project, and for good reason:

Monsters were just starting to settle into their new cage, it would mean chaos if they were told that the Royal Scientist was trying to learn how to break it.

 

Gaster tucked his chin more firmly into the neck of his sweater, unable to feel the heat that Hotland produced and so uncaring about the extra layer. He still felt an imaginary chill up his bones, when he thought about the barrier that sealed the mountain shut. So far, the only information that had been ascertained towards it was that it was a complicated spell, the likes of which the Humans had likely been preparing for some time. It was the work of not one particular Magician, but many, and something in Gaster boiled with rage at the thought that Humans had been _preparing_ for their retreat into Ebott all along.

 

He picked his way towards the castle, his thoughts humming with information, rattling away inside of his skull. Magic could only be undone by Magic of equal type and strength- this was the oldest law amongst those who wielded it. To break the barrier, in theory he’d need to match its power, and its composition. Yet Human Magic was unpredictable, and there was no telling if he’d even be able to trace what types of Magic were used in the spell.

This was why he was taking a few days for the project, to develop something that might read energy better than his own Magical capabilities.

 

Gaster swiped the card to open his lab, and found himself greeted by a familiar face. Pip was a small, reptilian Monster, and barely came up to Gaster’s hip in height. Yet he made up for it with cheerful exuberance, his lab coat trailing on the floor, made for a bigger body.

 

“G!” He chirped upon Gaster’s arrival, tail wagging in greeting. “Ready to start causing trouble?”

“A-always am P-Pip. N-n-nice b-bow by the w-way.”

“Aw, thanks! My mom got it for me from the Trash Falls, she knows pink is my favourite.”

Gaster waved back, smiling as his colleague beamed before they fell into step beside him. Pip was good company, he didn’t mind that Gaster stuttered, and would patiently wait for the skeleton to finish his (admittedly) lengthy monologues before charging into one of his own. They were both chatty, and this meant that the rest of the Monsters on Gaster’s team could usually hear them arriving for work a mile away.

Sure enough, they entered the elevator to the lower floors of the lab to find they were expected.

 

Corwin, Laria and Elphie all greeted their arrival from their respective work stations. They were all some of the brightest minds in the Underground, and yet in the dim lights of the lab it was also clear that they were all some of the strangest minds, too. Experiments in each of their respective fields were scattered about, a hodgepodge of machinery, samples, blueprints and beakers.

Pip (whose specialty was biology and all things organic) made his way over to his bench, which was filled to the brim with Echo flowers and jars of fireflies. He used his tail to prop himself up enough to get to the seat of his chair, a lack of arms not hindering him in the slightest. Following suit, Gaster tucked himself at his own desk, made noticeable by all the notes written out in Wingdings.

He had a lot to do if he was going to make that date in Snowdin.

 

****

Magic could reflect Magic, acting as a mirror to it if powerful enough and allowing someone to read the emotions behind it. Gaster knew of only a few things that might be strong enough to do this with the barrier: Asgore’s trident, Toriel’s fire, and his own, secret ability.

 

He hadn’t tried it since the war, though he could feel it sometimes, crackling at the back of his consciousness. Gaster had been left with no one to tell him what this power was, everyone he had known to be able to use it wiped out before his eyes. Unknown Magic was unpredictable, and he told himself that the reason he never tested it was for safety.

Now he stood in the shadow of the barrier itself, feeling a coldness in his non-existent gut and sweat breaking out along the back of his neck.

 

Gaster had been unconscious when he’d entered the mountain, carried by Grillby. He had no memory of the event, and in truth he hadn’t pressed Grillby for a descriptor of that horrible night. Now he looked at the jagged opening, sealed tightly by Magic alien and powerful, and felt a sick dread rise inside of him. The Barrier at a glance appeared clear, but if one shifted their posture, it shimmered before the eye a myriad of shades and hues. In a way it was beautiful, but that beauty was marred by the permanence of the act. The entire thing thrummed with violent intent, leftover from the emotions the Humans must have felt when they were casting their spells. That raw energy crackled along Gaster’s bones, and he resisted the urge to flinch away from it.

 

This was the hell that trapped all of them down here, that had left them hungry and alone in the darkness for far too many weeks before Monsterkind had been able to stand on their feet again. He forced his chin to lift, the lights of his eyes narrowing in concentration. Gaster needed to focus, if he was to do this correctly.

 

Letting his eye sockets drift shut, he tentatively plucked at the Magic within him. It was a hum that he alone could hear, mixing with the mild static that was always hovering, just outside of his comfortable hearing range. As he touched it, the sound became louder, a bright chord that Gaster felt deep in his chest and limbs. Yet that was just his surface Magic, the purple waves that he could summon to lash out or defend himself. For the skeleton creatures, the fanged demons of his dreams, he had to reach deep into the inky black, find the emotion ( _intent,_ something whispered) that summoned them.

Gaster found his anger. He found his hatred for Humans and what they had taken from him, his bitterness and his rage towards the death of his siblings. He thought of the night sky and how he’d likely never see it again, how his family had fallen and left him behind, an outlier. He thought of his loneliness, purposefully discarding for a moment Grillby’s comforting presence in his mind. He thought of how the Sorceress that gave the command to entrap them had worn a pleased smirk the entire time, knowing that she had won. He let his hate fill him, inky and black, and behind him a luminous shape began to grow.

 

It was not an easy Spell, in order for the creature form fully, Gaster had to hang onto that feeling of rage, cling to it and let it fuel him. He could not think of the good things of the Underground, or the things he had gained since that terrible night. He had to give up his Hope momentarily, let his HP fall to next to nothing. In return, his Magic began to writhe to life.

 

He watched as horns sprouted from a bone-white skull, fangs painstakingly growing until they were cruelly sharp. An elongated shape, it was nearly wolflike in appearance. It opened its sharp maw, jaws unhinging as Gaster pointed a skeletal finger towards the barrier. Violet eyes came to life in empty sockets, and the blaster’s core lit with a white-hot flame.

Gaster watched as energy surged from its mouth, firing directly at the barrier. With that strike, the skeleton felt all of his anger condensed into a single blow. It struck the barrier dead-centre, and though its force was enough to quake the very mountain it seemed, the seal did not break.

 

Instead, it reflected seven, clear colours to Gaster’s eyes, as only Human Souls could:

Light blue, yellow, green, dark blue, violet, dark blue, and a deep, deep blood-red. That colour lasted the longest of all, imprinted in Gaster’s eye sockets like the faded edge of a dream. He allowed himself a small, edged smile.

Seven Souls. All different types, but seven nonetheless.

He would have let it go there, but something deeper flickered in his gaze. Blinking back the spots of light that came from the blast, the Monster frowned. Another Soul was added to the barrier, one that differed from the other. He saw an inverted heart, white-silver in hue. Gaster sucked in a breath of surprise, and sudden fury. A Monster Soul. He felt as if the air was sucked from the cavern with the revelation.

Someone, one of their _own,_ had sold them all out.

 

His hands curled at his sides, and he felt it as they shook in tight fists. The anger grew, until his blasters were nearly too big to fit the cavern and his eyes were dead sockets, the pinpricks of light extinguished from them. Gaster grit his teeth, knowing what the weight of this information might do to his people. Underground, everyone had a common enemy: they hadn’t turned on one another in times of great stress because of this.

Yet with this information, everything could come crumbling to pieces, fall apart. If not even your own _neighbour_ could be trusted, was anyone truly safe? He knew suddenly, that he could not tell a single Monster this information. Perhaps, he could not even tell Asgore. The knowledge struck like a javelin in Gaster’s Soul, leaving it seething. He reigned it in sharply, feeling his blasters crackle with energy in kind.

 

He allowed the blaster to dissipate, deliberately letting go of his hatred with a hissed inhale of air. With it, the skeleton felt a wave of exhaustion, the likes of which very nearly brought him to his knees. He gasped, skeletal fingers digging into rough-hewn rock.

 

Seven Human Souls, it was the only way to break this damn barrier. One Monster Soul, to pay for a betrayal too great to fathom. Gaster pressed a hand to his mouth, smothering the strange laugh that wanted to break from him. So, this was how the Humans planned to keep everyone trapped down here. For a Monster, a Soul could not become coloured unless it was moved from their body. Yet Humans, they dripped with different emotions, often so much more solid than Monsters. Their Souls were bright, vivid sources of immense power, and seven of them had been used to make this Spell. To replicate that, to mimic it… he wouldn’t even know where to _start._ Was it even _possible_ to synthesize such a thing? What _held_ such power together in the first place? There were too many variables, and Gaster swam in them, feeling the first creeping edges of panic.

 

A single Human Soul at least would be needed, and he had no way of knowing when or how one might come to them. There was the chance that it would never come. He tried to ignore that thought, viciously tamping it down. When one _did_ arrive, he would have to be ready. He would have to be able to extract it, to study it and discover the source of its power. A machine would be needed, something that could distil the essence of a Soul…

 

Gaster’s mind was buzzing with a thousand theories and possibilities and a ringing that seemed to only grow louder the longer he stood by the barrier. He grit his teeth, pushing past the pain of it. Unsteadily, he rose to his feet, his own Soul quivering tightly in his chest.

 

Every Monster had a coloured Magic, and he was no different. The only shade he had never encountered before in one of his own was the red colour. That meant at least that Monsters and Humans had that much in common, he could likely start there. It was a small pinpoint, but a meaningful one. The skeleton nodded to himself.

He would not give up.

He couldn’t afford to.

 

Much like which the colour of his Magic was associated with, Gaster would not fail.

He would persevere, because what else was there to do? To fall down, to give up, to let all of this go… It was letting those who had hurt so many win. It was slowly losing his mind down here, where there was no light and less air to breathe, and so much _so much_ darkness. This was no future, not for himself, and not for his friends. It was not thriving, but survival in its purest, most brutal form.

He would figure out a way to bring Monsters back to the surface.

He would figure out a way to see the stars again.

 

****

A rumble shook the underground, knocking the bowl that Grillby had precariously placed upon the edge of the counter. He cursed as it fell, fingers gripping air even as he lost his balance, the shaking under his feet shivering through him.

Somewhere in the basement, Flint let out a muffled shout of surprise. His father called out frantically, making sure that his two sons were okay.

 

After a moment, once the earth stopped shaking, Grillby responded with a positive. He smoothed the wrinkles in his sweater, a sweeping unease trickling through him as he stared at the shattered mess of bowl and cookie dough lying on the floor. As quickly as it had swept through, the sudden earthquake had stopped and turned to an eerie stillness that he couldn’t quite place. The air was thick with it, and it left a cold chill.

The flame Monster could feel it in his Soul, the wrongness of it. There was a burrowing, festering whisper, a silent scream of _this is not right_ that filled Grillby with an irrational urge to find his partner, make sure he was ok. Somehow, he could not shake the feeling that Gaster was in danger, that he could be hurt or lost or that _something_ had taken him.

 

He sucked in a breath, tamping down on the irrational fear. Grillby clenched his fists at his sides, taking slow and measured intakes of air even as he slowly relaxed the tension in his shoulders. He told himself that the fear he was feeling was left over from the war, from almost losing the skeleton once. From losing other friends. It would pass, and his partner would return to him unharmed. Still the strong emotion lingered, to find Gaster, to take him and the rest of his family and hide them, somewhere safe and somewhere that could not be touched by such an ominous force.

 

He stood like that for quite a while, flame flickering blue-red, trembling.


	7. The Fallen Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there, I'm not dead~~ just got a job and am now getting paid so that means a lot of working and not a lot of writing D: 
> 
> Next chapter will have Sans in it, as well as... well... death? But I mean. canon death. as in a certain small human with murderous tendencies... *Coughs* anywho. 
> 
> Enjoy ^_^ and let me know what you think/what you want in this fic if anything. I take prompts~

 

**LOG DATE: SAVE FILE SIX: YEAR- (REDACTED)**

 

Snowdin was a town of eternal chill and sub-zero temperatures, and very much lived up to its name. It was not the first place one would expect to find Grillby, a fire Monster. It was true that when he went on his date with Gaster, he had to wear many layers. The cold wind would nip at his flames, trying in vain to douse him. Its bite would work its way in between the cracks of his clothing, trying to freeze him in place. He breathed a layer of steam out from the lip of the jade-green scarf he wore as he asked again where they were going, one hand wrapped in the skeleton’s palm. As before, Wingdings merely smiled, and refused to give his surprise away.

 

The town was a wonderland, frosted like the inside of the glass figurines Gaster used to watch some of the more artistic Humans make. Children and adults alike wandered through drifts of snow, created by the abundance of Magic that had started to build inside the mountain with no place to go. These were furry folk, most of them needing only a jacket and maybe a cap to keep themselves warm from the bite of winter. Gaster watched as his partner eyed two rabbit Monster children affectionately, their game of tag taking them on a harrowing race around their figures. The children hardly seemed to notice, laughing and shrieking and jostling for space. Several feet behind them, their mother sighed in despair as she hopped after them.

 

“It’s really lovely here,” Grillby breathed for perhaps the third time that afternoon, his tone surprised and pleased. In truth, he had not expected much from Snowdin. It was a relatively new “town”, and Grillby would be the first to admit that he was biased against cold (or wet) places. He looked up at Gaster, his flame a bright and cheery yellow. “I see now why you wanted to show me. This is… really nice, love.”

 

Gaster smiled, using his free hand to sign at his partner.

_I’m glad you like it. I was afraid you’d be getting cold feet right about now._

Grillby groaned, annoyed and amused that the skeleton was becoming skilled enough in signing to make jokes.

“Don’t you start or I’ll leave you here in the snow. I’m enjoying myself here.”

The flame smiled as his partner squeezed his hand gently, obviously pleased in spite of his jokes. There was a softness in Gaster’s gaze as he signed back, repeating himself.

_I’m really glad. The surprise will hopefully make it even better._

“You really didn’t have to, you know,” Grillby murmured gently “I would have been happy just spending some time with you.”

 _I feel bad,_ Gaster admitted _I’m always working, and you’re always stuck alone._

The two fell into a companionable silence then, Grillby’s fingers smoothing over the rounded plane of Gaster’s palm.

 

In truth, Gaster was relieved as well as fascinated with this place, himself. Elphie specialised in Magically manipulated weather, and they had often rambled for several hours about Snowdin. Scientifically, the idea of falling snow inside of a mountain was impossible, a miracle and a conundrum at once. The fact that it was likely due to its residents only made the issue more fascinating. Gaster wondered if his colleague’s theory was correct: that Ebott served as a lid on the Magic Monsters gave off in excess. He wondered if that excess might one day reach a limit, if there was a set volume this mountain could hold.

 

The thought slipped away from him however upon watching his partner, who was currently smiling at the sight of three siblings playing. They were dog Monsters, puppies from the looks of things. Yipping and barking, they were trying to make snowmen. The youngest, a beige-coloured thing with pointed ears, seemed to be struggling to figure out what to create.

It hadn’t been the first time Gaster had caught Grillby looking at children with something soft and yearning in his expression. They had discussed it once, one early morning when they had been tucked in bed together. The issue was clear: Grillby’s soul contained LV. The way most Monsters brought about new life was to take a piece of their soul each and fuse them into one being, breathing life into their child by using a piece of themselves. To do so with a soul that bore violence however, would be dangerous and foolish.

They had concluded to shelve the question for the time being, mostly because when they discussed such things, Grillby’s flame would dim and he would go quiet and sad.

 

Gaster’s grip gently tightened on his partner’s hand, guiding him away from the scene. He instead drew him towards an empty lot, between the “Libarby” (and the scientist cringed at the spelling of it) and another friendly building. A sign stood on it, stating it recently sold. Grillby didn’t clue in, not until Gaster made him stop before the sign, his face unusually uncertain. With fidgeting hands, Gaster signed, his fingers quick and nervous.

_Well, here we are._

“…Dings?” Grillby murmured, slightly confused. He blinked slowly, trying to understand what Gaster was trying to show him. The skeleton sighed, tapping to the sign as if to emphasize its presence. He signed again, this time with more certainty.

_Your family and I talked, and we concluded that if cooking is what makes you happy, and it is, that you should give a shot at cooking for people._

 

The flame’s crackling mouth parted slightly, shock and surprise and just a hint of flustered incredulity passing his features. Grillby’s flame crackled, yellow-tinged pink.

“Gaster… are you saying you bought me a place in _Snowdin_ to build a restaurant?”

Grillby could practically hear the ellipses in Gaster’s speech as he signed, hesitant and worried.

_…Yes? I mean, that is… if you like it-_

The skeleton didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, because Grillby was hugging him. His arms were warm, like embracing sunshine, and Gaster leaned into it greedily. Grillby’s voice was rough by his ear, his laughter breathless and exhilarated.

“I don’t know how to make anything right now, besides cookies, burgers and fries.”

“T-that’s o-o-ok. Y-you can l-learn.”

That earned a grin as Grillby stepped back to look at Gaster’s face, cupping his skull in his hands. He pressed a kiss to the skeleton’s cheek, delighted when a dull purple flush crawled across his cheeks.

“It’s amazing, love. I love it. Truly, I’m… I’m completely speechless.”

 

His hands now visible, Gaster could sign his reply. He seemed immensely pleased.

_I’m glad you like it. I saw this place and just… I hoped you’d like it._

It was in the chilly snow that the pair of them felt warm and very much in love, looking at the empty lot before them. Grillby’s mind was filled with ideas, a restaurant where he could make good food, and care for good people. Gaster in turn, watched his partner’s face. The skeleton thought of how happy Grillby was in that moment, a weight that the flame seemed to permanently carry appear lifted. He found himself wishing that the sight would last, that he could wake up every day and put that expression on his partner’s face.

 

He tucked his chin into the lip of his scarf, the white pinpricks of his eyes flicking out towards the snow drifts. Children laughed and played, chasing one another under the careful eye of their parents. Gaster found a flickering memory, guttering in the back of his mind. He saw himself, Helvetica, Candara and Calibri playing in the snow. His mother watched from the window of her home, her long dress pale and soft and her eyes softer. He wondered about small hands, and wide eyes. He wondered what Grillby would look like, cradling a small child to his chest.

 

The image vanished like melting frost, and soon he was back to himself again. For the first time in a while, Gaster’s thoughts were not consumed by the Barrier, or the Core.

 

****

Like all things, time moved forward, and news trickled throughout the Underground that the king and queen were with child. The kingdom was filled with hope, a light shining like a beacon as new life came to be to replace the darkness of the war. Monsters began to accept their life in the darkness, even if they were not entirely happy. There was a generation growing up that did not know what true stars looked like, or did not know the sun.

 

Gaster; meanwhile, found himself occupied with the issue of the Barrier. His experiments upon it had lead to mostly dead ends, with only the discovery that it was only Monsters that could pass through it as far as he knew. He discovered this by watching a bird fly through it one morning, chirping and free. Later, it had left, ignorant to the skeleton’s outstretched hand that reached longingly towards where he could not follow. There were days where being under the mountain felt oppressive, chokingly bleak. On those days, he threw himself at the Barrier with a vengeance, sometimes physically.

Nothing ever succeeded though, and Gaster was forced to conclude that without a sample of a Human soul, he could not forward his work.

 

Temporarily, he left it, and focused instead on Grillby. His partner’s restaurant was a small, cozy thing, and served drinks and a limited menu. Grillby as it turned out found he had a knack for mixing, and became the best (and really only) bartender in the mountain. Gaster was pleased to find the place fill up more and more each time he paid the flame a visit in Snowdin, and found each time the trip home long and inconvenient.

It wasn’t long before Grillby tentatively made the suggestion of a more permanent residence in the area. The flame admitted that he would miss Flint, and his father, but that Snowdin was fast becoming home.

Gaster was happy to oblige, the two of them making enough money that such a thing was now well within reason.

 

So they built a small home, made of wood charmed to be flame-resistant. Grillby and Gaster both used their Magic to bring it to life, and the love and care that went into it made it a fairy tale home for them both. Though Gaster still left for days at a time to work in Hotland, Snowdin was where his heart lingered. The two found balance in work, and balance in one another.

 

As the snow lessened, and Snowdin approached the closest thing to “Spring” it had, the announcement came: A young prince had been born.

The king, ever one to be creative with names, called him Asriel.

****

The young prince was said to be a “green” soul, and if one knew him, then they saw that he quickly lived up to the superstition that said those with that colour were known for kindness. Asriel often greeted Gaster if he met with the king to exchange information, his fluffy paws waving at the skeleton in the universal gesture for “hello”. On his mother’s knee he’d babble animatedly at those who came to call, liquid eyes lamb-like and adorable.

 

Gaster found the whole thing disgustingly cute, and it was clear that the king and queen both adored their child. They doted on him, and as time went on the skeleton began to feel a gnawing ache in his chest.

 

It was a feeling that Gaster struggled to articulate, but knew that his partner felt too. Grillby felt guilty that he could not provide a part of his soul to create a child, and though adoption was a matter they had considered, unwanted children in the Underground was relatively rare. Most of the children that had been orphaned in the war had already been adopted, and unless a Monster suddenly fell down for no reason, the options were limited. It was by no means a bad thing, but Gaster found himself frustrated by the whole problem. There had to be something he could do, anything that could make a suitable replacement to a child.

 

He thought long and hard, but ultimately came up with very little. To not want children was easy, and painless. To want them though, and to be unable to have them, caused an ache that lingered and stabbed him sharply in unexpected moments. He resolved to approach the whole thing with the mind of a scientist. If he merely thought about it, worked out the logistics, he could figure something out.

 

In the meantime, he rather guiltily took advantage of the fact that Toriel enjoyed having him mind Asriel at times while waiting for Asgore. The small goat Monster never seemed to mind that his face was cracked and disfigured, or that he stuttered when he spoke. In fact, he never seemed to judge anyone based on their appearance at all.

 

Perhaps this was why fate would have it that Asriel would be the one to find the Human child while playing, broken and bleeding in the ruins. Gaster would hear of it, an urgent message sent to him, requesting his presence for his expertise.

 

For the first time in several years, he would glimpse at a Human being once more. Gaster would find himself at the foot of the king and queen’s bed, regarding the pale, thing child before him. He would note their dark hair, cut close their their chin and curling. He would see the apple cheeks, the shadowed circles under the child’s eyes. He would note their ragged clothing.

Most of all the skeleton would see Asriel’s complete enchantment with the child, his white paws pressed to the coverlet’s edge, his hazel eyes wide.

 

A red Soul, the colour so bright that it burned in Gaster’s mind like an imprint. It was the exact same shade as the Magic he could remember before his world went dark, the Magic that had torn his family apart and left him with only dust and nightmares. The child would wake, eyes opening to reveal irises such a rich brown they resembled the hue of the tiny heart shape fluttering in their chest.

 

Later, Gaster would take his leave after checking the Human’s vitals. Alive, as healthy as to be expected. He would tell the king about the Barrier, urge him to give him the Human, to use their Magic and take it to break the Barrier.

He would be met with betrayal, the king’s voice soft and pained.

“My son has begged me to show them mercy. My wife would hate me if I killed a child.”

 

Gaster would feel accusations claw the back of his throat, burn inside of him.

_Where was the Human’s mercy, when they slaughtered my entire race?_

He’d swallow the question, and it would taste like acid all the way down.

“My siblings died for your war.” He would say instead, and somehow it would sound worse.

Asgore visibly flinched at his tone, recoiling at the deadness of his expression. His deep voice was filled with apologies, none of which Gaster believed.

“I am tired of fighting, Gaster. Your sister would not have wanted this, a senseless killing. This child is not the child that trapped us down here, to murder them in cold blood? It would not be right.”

“You’re making a mistake.” Gaster hissed in response, growling wordlessly when Asgore did not immediately reply. The king raised his voice as the royal scientist spun on his heel, intending to storm out. His words pierced Gaster, worse than any knife couYou’re making a mistake.” Gaster hissed in response, growling wordlessly when Asgore did not immediately reply. The king raised his voice as the royal scientist spun on his heel, intending to storm out. His words pierced Gaster, worse than any knife could have.

“It is because of this kind of mindless hatred your race will die with you, Gaster. I refuse to let all of Monsterkind get dragged down with it.”

 

Silence answered, and after a ragged breath inwards, the skeleton marched resolutely away.

 

Gaster would learn to hate the name _Chara,_ and everything it represented. Once again, a Human being had stolen Monsterkind’s freedom from them, dangling it like a prize only to snatch it away.

 

Grillby would come home to Gaster sitting sightless and hopeless on the couch, his gaze vacant and lost, the pinpricks of his eyes extinguished. Sitting beside him, the flame wouldn’t question it when the skeleton would curl up against him, lanky form bending and twisting until he was a pretzel at his side. Gaster’s teeth would click together tightly, grinding them against words unspoken.

After a moment, Grillby rested a hand atop his skull, stroking it gently.

 

Gaster stared at his two hands, an idea forming through the haze of his anger. It fuelled him. Humans had taken his race from him, his siblings. Grillby wanted children, something to represent a new beginning. He wanted to _make_ something, anything to get rid of the screaming voice in his mind that demanded he destroy.

He would not be the last skeleton.

He would not let his sibling’s death be in vain just because the king was too much of a coward to kill a true Monster.

 

****

It would take years of work, Gaster knew that before he even began. He sketched out blueprints for a body, a form for his child that would suit them. Without Grillby’s Soul playing a factor, he would need something more physical for his own piece of Soul to attach to.

The simplest thing would be DNA, and a sizeable chunk of it.

Gaster grimaced as he sketched out the idea of his own hand, marred by a perfect, rounded hole. It would hurt, would likely be a nearly unbearable agony. He thought again of Grillby’s delight watching the children play outside in the snow, and thought of the longing in his own heart for an echo of his family.

His jaw firmed, and he sketched out the lines with more persistence.

 

Months passed, and Chara’s presence became well-known throughout the Underground. The word was that the Human and Asriel had become allies, siblings, even. Gaster was unsurprised, though disappointed in the little prince. He was too kind it seemed, even for his own good. Tentatively, Monsters began to question whether or not Chara could be the answer towards mending the broken link between the surface and the mountain.

 

Gaster for his part, did his best to keep his mouth shut and his head lowered. His personal feelings aside, he did not have time to get caught up in his own unease with the king’s decision to rear the child as his own. He had work to do, and the Core was constantly breaking down it seemed. It overheated too quickly, and even with the ice idea he had come up with (all thanks to Snowdin), it still was a finicky machine. Elphie and the others often brought him coffee and food when he fell asleep at his work desk, and sometimes called Grillby in if he stayed for too many nights in a row. The flame was hardened towards Gaster’s pleading, and would take him home for a nap and “A goddamn meal god fucking _dammit_ Gaster you’re not immortal.”

 

He worked, and he slept when he thought he could afford it, and he sketched notes in Wingdings about what he thought his child might be like. He kept the nature of his project a secret, uncertain if it would even work. Gaster didn’t want to disappoint Grillby, and he most certainly did not want Asgore’s pity if he found out that the skeleton was so desperate for a child he’d try to make one.

 

Sometimes, when he was meeting with the king, Gaster would catch a glimpse of them. Chara was always quiet compared to Asriel, never exactly chatty. Their eyes were unnerving, and had a way of spotting and holding his gaze even if Gaster were doing his best to avoid meeting the royal children. They were still pale, even after recovery from their injuries, and they rarely smiled.

When they did, it was an unsettling expression. Fake. It was a mask thrown up to mimic compassion.

 

He never got to see the true smile Chara sometimes made for Asriel, when they were alone together. Gaster never saw Chara help a small bird Monster up after they fell, or how they’d tend to the golden flowers in the king’s garden. He instead was summoned when the king fell ill, nearly poisoned by his two unknowing children.

That was at least, _Asriel_ seemed to have genuinely not known. The consequences of his actions lay before him in the form of the king’s sickly silhouette, large tears forming in the child’s eyes. He couldn’t seem to stop sobbing, and kept repeating apologies to his mother, to Gaster, to the king himself.

 

Gaster couldn’t help but notice that throughout it all Chara had grown quiet, contemplative. They looked at Asgore carefully, something calculating in their gaze. He found it distinctly unsettling.

 

It was several nights later, after the king’s recovery, that Gaster took a scroll saw to his own hand. On his own, and with only a marginal anaesthetic, the skeleton nearly passed out. The pain was a wash of red in his vision, bleeding into blackness. He could feel his Soul twinge in pulsing pain, white-hot behind his eyesockets.

When it was done, he had a perfect circle of bone in his palm, already swiftly attempting to turn to dust. Gaster quickly threw it into the beaker he had prepared, stirring its light red liquid.

Just because the king told him Chara was not to be harmed, didn’t mean he could collect the excess Magic they gave off (As all Monsters and Humans were prone to do).

 

He watched, breathless with pain and anticipation as the small piece of bone halted its disintegration. It fizzled in the liquid a moment, seeming to pulse before once more returning to solid. Responding to the Magic. Gaster smiled, though he was in incredible pain. Good.

His theory had been correct. The next task on hand, he focused hard on his Soul. This part would be at once both easier and more difficult, the process natural and yet incomplete.

 

Slowly, Gaster tugged on his own Soul, splintering off a small sliver and in the process causing a bone-deep thrum to hum inside of his bones. He groaned at it, struggling to keep his breathing even. He was using a lot of his Magic to stay conscious for all of this. Excruciatingly slowly, he took the shard and gathered it to his palm, dropping it too into the beaker. Purple Magic infused the red, staining it.

Before Gaster’s eyes, the liquid shimmered a deep indigo, before shifting decidedly into dark blue.

 

The skeleton smiled, knowing the Magic had been taken. He lifted the small jar in his hands, pressing skeletal teeth against the glass in an approximation of a kiss. Gaster was surprised to find with the contact, a light pulsed within the jar. As if responding in kind, his Soul shimmered for a moment between his ribs, a white-echo glow. With it, Gaster caught a fleeting feeling from the tiny blue glow, a sensation of disorientation, of fear.

“You’re going to be alright, little one,” The skeleton whispered, cradling the jar. “Nothing’s going to hurt you. Not as long as I’m here.”

The feeling passed, and Gaster smiled, relieved. This was fine, he could be a parent. It would all be fine.

He stood, propping the jar up onto a shelf. Later, he would need an actual tank, to allow the body to grow and form. For now however, he could merely keep the substance in a beaker, the suggestion of life. He looked up at it, feeling the heaviness of the last while in his chest lighten just a fraction.

It would be a long time, but someday.

 

Someday, he would meet his child.


	8. A Birth and A Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally got a new chapter hammered out for this fic. *Whew* 
> 
> I hope you enjoy ^_^ Here we have Sans, and a canon-compliant death of a certain child.

 

_**LOG DATE: SAVE FILE SEVEN: YEAR- (REDACTED)** _

 

_Palatino?_

No. Too fancy.

_Garramond?_

He’d had a grandfather called that, once. Gaster’s brow-bone crinkled in distaste. He’d never much liked that skeleton.

_Rockwell?_

He scowled down at the paper before him, crossing off yet another name from the list. Two months, and he still couldn’t decide what his child should be called. No font seemed to fit, despite his best attempts to etch out the names he could remember from his family tree. They all rattled his skull, and when he read them out in the lab the small skeleton floating before him hadn’t even bothered to stir.

 

And a small skeleton, it was. Gaster was entranced by how quickly it became evident that his child was something living. The ‘Determination’ made the small slice of his hand begin to change shape, taking on new form of its own. The bulbous jut of a skull was immediately apparent, followed by the thin suggestion of bones. To Gaster, they looked endlessly fragile and precious. Each tiny finger that had begun to form he’d studied as closely as he could when separated by a tank. By the scientist’s estimates, he guessed that his child would most likely be grown by five months. This left Gaster with little time to prepare, and even less time to formulate a story to sell to Grillby.

 

Speaking of his partner, the flame was starting to catch on to the fact that Gaster was spending a lot of time at the lab. Since the night he had come home with a hole in his hand poorly bandaged, the flame had been watching him like a hawk. Gaster had used the weak excuse of a ‘lab accident’, but he was very much aware just how little the flame had believed him.

“You need to _look after yourself,_ Dings.” He muttered upon looking at the damage done. Gaster had pretended it hadn’t hurt as much as it did. There were days he’d flex his hand and the ache from the lost part of himself would burn. He didn’t let Grillby too close, for fear the flame would look into his Soul and see the damage taken there.

 

Grillby was a patient Monster, but his patients had limits when Gaster refused to tell him just what he was _doing_ that required so much overtime. With his own restaurant to look after, Gaster knew that Grillby was beginning to feel like they never saw much of one another, an accusation that Gaster would hesitantly admit to be correct.

He convinced himself that it would all be worth it, if he could only get his experiment to _work._

As it was, a lot of dinners were left untouched between the two of them, both busy and preoccupied with other issues at hand.

 

Gaster couldn’t spend all of his time in his own lab, either. There were other, pressing matters that as the royal scientist, he could not ignore. The Core still needed constant attention, and the people of the Underground often asked for his opinion in matters. Somehow, Monsters looked at him and saw a figure of knowledge, and had begun insisting on having him in most town meetings. Snowdin’s, were the most painfully tedious. He frequently did his best to be busy, when those occurred.

 

All of this he’d find himself telling the small, sleeping skeleton in the tank in his lab. He’d talk as if his child could understand him yet, and sometimes Gaster felt as though they almost could. A leg would twitch at the right time, closed eye sockets would flutter, and for an instant he’d feel validated. Gaster also told the skeleton all about Grillby, and how good of a father he’d make.

“He’s much better than I am, I assure you,” He muttered one evening while tinkering away at the pressure valves of the tank. His child only reacted by curling further inwards on itself. The flutter of its Soul had yet to take colour, so for now it glowed as an upside down heart, pure white. “Grillby loves children, and he’ll love you the most.” It was a promise, given freely without thought. This was because the idea of Grillby hating any child was laughable. “All you have to do is worry about growing to be big and strong, and I’ll do the talking for both of us. Work on getting taller, at least, you’re slow on that.” Gaster patted the side of the tank, pleased with his revelation. He then knelt to fumble for a wrench. The valve that determined DT concentration required some tweaking.

 

The skeleton knelt, tucking himself into the crevice between the wall and the tank. The wrench between his teeth, he set to work. The methodical method of adjusting wires, tightening valves and readjusting gauges was a soothing rhythm. Gaster began to be lost to it, the familiar rhythm of his own thoughts whirring at a half-pace faster than most others could.

 

He had just began working on the final valve, when a pounding on his lab’s door sent Gaster’s Soul up into his throat.

“Gaster!” It was Elphie. Her voice was high and tight, a line of tension. She pounded on the door again, insistent. “Gaster! It’s the king’s child!”

Asriel? Gaster jerked upwards, momentarily forgetting what he was doing. Filled with a desire to know what was wrong and to keep Elphie from finding out about the tank, he scrambled to his feet.

 

He ran for the door, long legs taking him there in only a few strides. Mindlessly, he entered the passcode. The door revealed Elphie, sweating nervously. Their voice was a high chirp of distress.

“Gaster, thank goodness! You need to come quickly! You’re the only one that might know what to do!”

“W-What’s wrong?”

Elphie looked grim.

“Chara, they’re sick. It’s bad, the medical Monsters don’t know what to do. You’re one of the only ones left with medical knowledge _and_ a knowledge of Humans.”

The news sat with Gaster like a lead stone. On the one hand, the skeleton felt a prickle of unease. It was no secret in the Underground how he felt about the Human child that so many had become infatuated with. Yet to refuse to help, besides being a treasonous act, would be to sentence a child to death. Gaster was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a murderer. He was going to have a child of his own, soon. To hole up inside of his lab and ignore another parent’s suffering… it made him feel ill. Already he was attached to his child, and he did not even have a name for them. What would his child think of him, if they were to know that their parent was so selfish?

The idea of bearing such a heavy title, however indirectly, made a shiver crawl along Gaster’s spine, so that guilt hung within him. Grillby would be ashamed, if he had known he even considered closing the door.

 

He deliberated a moment, his bony hands flexing and unflexing along the doorframe. It was the span of a breath before Gaster’s jaw firmed. His scarred eye-sockets furrowed with tired resolution.

“Take me to them.” He murmured, and Elphie let out a sigh of relief before turning to lead the way. Gaster followed, his previous duties for the time left forgotten.

 

The unfastened line into the tank continued to drip Determination, lost in the chaos of saving another child’s life.

 

****

Gaster could not claim to be an expert in Human anatomy. It was more that like most topics in the world, he bore an interest for casual reading and learning. Anatomy books found in the trash were collected, as were science books, math, and spelling. Gaster hoarded knowledge like a sponge, and it made him knowledgeable where many Monsters were beginning to forget the information of the surface. When things went terribly wrong, many Monsters assumed damage control- Call Gaster, and see if he knew what the source of the problem could be.

The king and queen both looked openly relieved upon his arrival. Both of the Monsters bore the weight of stress and a sleepless night. Toriel’s paws seemed to tremble with stress, an uncharacteristic sign of fatigue. Asgore held an arm around her waist, the two of them still dressed in nightclothes. As Gaster approached, the king extended his other paw in a handshake.

“Thank goodness you are here,” He rumbled. “Asriel has not stopped crying.”

Gaster took the paw in good grace, his face a smooth mask of professionalism.

“Where is the p-prince now?” He asked.

“With Chara, he hasn’t left their side.”

Gaster considered the situation quietly for a moment. “It would be p-prudent to move him t-temporarily, if only so that I can make a f-f-full examination.” By the doubtful expression on the king’s face, Gaster was prepared for the protest that would arrive.

 

True to his prediction, moving Asriel was easier said than done. Toriel made the choice to brave the room first, but Gaster could hear the young prince’s refusal.

“No! I can’t leave them! I _won’t!”_ The child’s voice was cracked with stress, Gaster’s eyes slipped closed a moment in sympathy as he stood by the silent king. Toriel must have murmured something inaudible, because a moment passed before there was a shifting two bodies. A moment later, and the queen appeared, her son wrapped up in her arms.

 

Asriel was a sight of grief, his hazel eyes red with tears. He looked over the queen’s shoulder at Gaster, his face a wordless plea to fix what was broken. It tugged at Gaster, who had never liked to see children in pain. The skeleton kept steady eye-contact with Asriel as the queen walked him to bed, willing him to understand. He would do his best to help, if only for him.

With the queen gone, Gaster turned to look up at Asgore.

“I’m going to need some t-time alone with the child.” He asked, and the king bowed his head in understanding. His massive body was stooped with worry as he peered down at Gaster.

“Thank you for this, my friend.” The king breathed.

“Don’t,” Gaster murmured coldly, because if there was one thing he couldn’t stand it was false camaraderie. He could still hear the last argument he and the king had, before he’d stormed out of the castle. “I’m doing this for your child.” He didn’t have to explain which child he meant. Without another word he walked forward, into the room that the king and queen had evacuated for the human’s sake. Asgore didn’t follow, seeming to sense that to do so would be to push Gaster an inch too far.

 

The room was dark, the curtains drawn to keep the perpetual light the lava from Hotland gave off out. Gaster could make out the silhouette of a bed, a figure lying in it. He could hear their breathing, heavy and strained, like a tightened cord. He stepped forward, something inside of his chest prickling as he came to see the Human fully.

Chara was a sight of fragility. Their skin was ice-white, eyes two bruised thumbprints of colour. They were wrapped tightly up in blankets, but were shivering even as sweat stood out on their forehead. The smell of sick, sour and rotten assaulted Gaster. He could see a bucket had been placed at the side of the bed. Dark eyes peered at him woozily, a croaked voice husking out the barest of laughs.

 

“You l-look like Death.” Chara murmured, mocking his stutter. It took Gaster a moment to realise the pun. He couldn’t help but appreciate it despite his unease at the situation, and despite the insult.

“I c-could say the same for you.” He replied. Chara looked at him steadily, in the unnerving stare that Gaster had come to associate with the child over the year or so of their stay. It was the flat, uninterested stare that made him think of dolls or wax figures, and it looked more ghostly now with Chara’s illness.

 

Gaster shook himself from such contemplations. He searched for his Magic, asking politely “M-may I take a look at your Soul?”

The child shrugged, their expression implying that many had looked at their Soul already tonight.

“Go for it.” Chara rasped. Gaster nodded in appreciation. Closing his eyes, he began to pluck for the blood-red Soul he knew rested inside. He found it with ease, like looking for a beacon in fog. Even when sick, it seemed to shine out to him, brilliant and heavy with its power. He could almost taste the flood of emotion that poured from it- unmasked when faced with someone who Chara had nothing to lose by revealing themselves.

 

Satisfaction. The Soul rolled with it, so that Gaster felt choked by its weight. He knew now what afflicted the child, though he didn’t know why it had been done.

 

“Poison,” He breathed, the word shivering between them like a curse. Chara smiled, the same mechanic smile that so irritated the man before. Now it seemed menacing and broken at once. “Why. _Why_ would you do this?”

“You should be happy,” Chara didn’t answer, instead staring up at the ceiling. The air whistled through their teeth with the rasp of their breath. “You’re going to be _free.”_

 

It didn’t take much for Gaster to connect the dots. As he did, the lights in the sockets of his eyes became extinguished pits. He stared at the child before him, his hands tightened at his hands and filled with inexplicable fury. Because what Chara had just admitted to giving was so beyond everything the Monster had deemed Humans capable of giving. Worse, _because_ they were a child they had gone about doing it so impossibly _wrong._ For a moment, he understood the cold words Candara had spoken to him, not out of anger, but love.

_There are bigger things at play here and you need to understand that! Stop acting like a kid!_

 

“Y-you need m-more than your Soul to break the barrier.”

"It's not Asriel's fault." They replied immediately. The ice in their tone left no room for argument. Gaster's teeth clicked together as he considered. His silence fell like a weight between them, a secret. When Chara spoke again, their voice was just the barest hint of uncertain. “You’re not going to tell?”

Gaster regarded them steadily. He was not sure why the words that came to him were voiced, but they felt heavy. Heavier than they should have. 

“Once… someone with your Soul took the only family I had. I c-couldn’t protect them.” His gaze lowered, towards his hands. What would it be like, to be free from the barrier? Would his ideas of Humanity, his fears for the future, be unfounded? “I’m g-giving you the chance.”

 

Something in Chara’s features flickered. Their hands tightened on the edge of the blankets. They looked at him seriously, the smile shrinking from their face. For the first time, Gaster could admit that there was something genuinely grateful in their expression. He pretended not to see, somehow feeling it was far more of a vulnerable look than he could live with.

He came to save the life of a child, but Gaster left the castle feeling as though the worst was yet to come from this uneasy turn of events. For what was becoming an increasingly frequent amount of times, he considered the wish to go back and change events, before they'd ever come to fruition. 

 

****

It was only as what the Underground labelled “night” began to manifest, that Gaster returned to his lab. Exhausted as he was, he didn’t register at first the distant wail of an alarm. Everyone had gone for the evening, and the silence only made it louder. It registered with Gaster like a slow crashing wave, panic seizing his chest as he realised it came from his laboratory.

 

He ran before he was aware of the action, his Soul in his throat as he pressed the buttons for the elevator. The lab was in chaos, critical lights flashing, blinding Gaster for an instant. It cleared as he fumbled forward, scrambling for the light switch. It revealed a sight that made Gaster choke.

 

The tank’s water was no longer clear, instead illuminated both by the alarm lights and the Determination seeping through it. The arrows on its dials were all hard-turned towards critical capacity. In the centre, his child writhed in noiseless pain. Gaster wished he could think, wished he had some idea what to do through the haze of panic seeping through his mind. All he could think of was the recurring result of his endless research, the sentence he’d had to write again and again in his files.

_Determination makes Monsters melt._

 

He couldn’t think. Instead, he acted. Gaster didn’t feel the pain as he broke the glass to the tank, though he was sure once he could breathe his hands would hurt. He was sure the water from the tank had to be cold, but all he could feel was a strange numbness throughout his body. Gaster thought the first time he’d hold his child would be memorable, but in truth he remembered very little until the small skeleton was in his arms.

 

Sitting in a puddle of fluids and glass, Gaster cradled in his palms his child. They were the length of his inner radial bone, impossibly tiny. For a moment his breath stopped, because the bones under his hands felt soft and moulded, damaged. He wasn’t sure he could detect a Soul, and it filled him with an unnameable terror.

_Not you too. Please… Don’t leave me too._

He curled in on himself, pressing his skull to his unbreathing child’s. Gaster felt something building inside of him, maybe a sob, maybe a scream.

 

Quietly, a Soul hummed with light. It resonated with Gaster’s, thrumming inside of his chest like a plucked chord. His eyes opened, staring down at two eye sockets staring up at him. His child gazed at him, small and confused. Gaster watched as its browbone crinkled at the outside world in confusion, before it opened its mouth and began to wail. The sound was a heartbroken noise, completely desolate and utterly perfect to Gaster. He laughed, a loud noise that echoed throughout his lab as a cry of joy.

His child, already completely fed up with the outside world seemed unimpressed with his laughter.

 

When his hysteria had died away, Gaster realised that his child was shivering. He was quick to act, even if it meant just wrapping the small skeleton in a lab coat. Nestled safely, he then thought to himself that he could reach out and touch his child’s Soul. It was nestled, just barely visible to Gaster through the tiny sternum. He couldn’t help but to reach out, to touch the tiny being he had brought to life before him. He brushed the Soul, and felt deepest blue, and a familiar hum.

 

“Determination.” He murmured aloud. His child looked at him, their cries softening. His _son._ It was clear he was very tired. Yawning widely before him, Gaster watched as his child’s eyes slipped closed. Rested in the crook of his elbow, his son fell asleep, uncaring of the peculiar state of his Soul.

 _It seems that no matter what I do, Determination will haunt my family._ Gaster thought. For the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Instead he pressed his face against the top of his son’s skull, rising to his feet. The motion made the baby squeal sleepily, kicking their tiny feet.

 

“A little c-comedian, a-aren’t you.” Gaster chuckled. The name came to him then, somehow sitting rightly in his mouth. “I’ve g-got it, Comic _Sans._ Do you like it?”

Sans peered up at him, already falling back to sleep. Still, it was as good as an affirmation. Gaster felt a warmth in his chest begin to burn, even as he realised the larger problem. “Looks like I’m taking you to Grillby a little earlier than expected, little one.” He sighed aloud to himself. He felt present in the moment, like he wouldn't trade anything with anyone to be there in his lab with his son. 

This, would take a lot of explaining.


	9. Bouncing Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *makes finger guns* new chapter~

 

_**LOG DATE: SAVE FILE EIGHT: YEAR- (REDACTED)** _

 

By the time that Gaster could find his feet to move from the lab and through Hotland, the rain had begun to fall. He chose to walk the long route, unwilling to let even the Riverperson from seeing his son before Grillby did. He figured he needed the time, if only to come up with a decent explanation. 

 

The rain fell down in sheets, dripping in hollow rhythm against his cracked skull. In his arms Sans squirmed, mouth opening for a good cry over the chill of it. Gaster held him closer, tucking his face against the warmth of his chest. Though his own bones were beginning to squelch distastefully, he didn’t dare take his coat back. He pushed to hurry through this wetland before either he or his child were drenched. He encountered no one during his travels, though that wasn’t entirely out of the norm. It was late, and the weather was bad, even for Waterfall. The blue darkness of the caves cast shadows that made the stars above them seem to burn like wisped fire. 

They watched in silence as Gaster made his way back towards the wintery breeze that signalled a return to home.

 

Grillby answered the door only after the briefest of knocks. Like a candle the wind from outside touched his flame, tossing it in the entry. He looked frenzied, and the expression only morphed into relief when he recognised Gaster’s face. 

“Dings,” Grillby breathed. He still hadn’t looked at the bundle in Gaster’s arms. The flame gripped Gaster’s sleeve, all but dragging him inside and out of the cold. “Thank goodness, I was so worried.” 

“W-worried?” Gaster asked, because it wasn’t like he hadn’t stayed out late before, lost in some experiment or other. Grillby’s flame crackled as they stepped together into the livingroom. It was only then that Gaster noticed the tired look in his eyes and the way he was rubbing at his arms. 

“You didn’t hear.” Grillby murmured, but it was phrased as a statement rather than a question. The flame exhaled sharply when Gaster shook his head, confused. “It’s the prince and the Human. They’ve disappeared.” 

“D-d-disappeared?” Gaster asked, feeling his Soul plummet to his stomach. An icy chill settled into his bones, despite the warmth of the house. Grillby looked as grim as a grave. 

“I tried calling you. Asriel… he took Chara’s Soul, when they- when they passed.” 

Gaster swore, a quiet hiss of exhalation. Just his luck, he felt Sans stir in his arms. He prayed that it was too early to be making conscious memory. 

 

The movement caught Grillby’s attention, his flame crackling in curiosity. 

“Gaster… what-” The flame broke off, a small sound catching in the back of his throat. Gaster had moved, brushing the lab coat aside to reveal the small bundle in his arms. Grillby’s golden eyes were wide, widening the longer he stared down at the tiny skeleton that was peering up at him. 

Gaster watched carefully, noting how his husband swayed. He wondered briefly if Grillby was going to faint. 

“D-don’t freak out.” Gaster pleaded. Grillby opened his mouth. No sound came, save for a high whine. He shut his mouth again. Blinked. Tried again. 

“I…” Grillby lifted a hand, stepping back when Gaster tried to offer the bundle towards him. Gaster searched his partner’s face, searching for some hint of happiness with growing desperation.

“His n-name is Sans, I m-m-made him. He’s… he’s mine. Ours? O-ours.” He said the last bit with decisiveness, daring Grillby to make an argument. He didn’t, merely blinked again with a lost confusion that was swiftly dawning into wonder. 

“You…  _ Made  _ a child?”

The skeleton flushed a violet hue. He shrugged his thin shoulders tightly. “M-More or less.” 

“How?” Grillby asked bewilderedly. By answer, Gaster again offered the bundle towards him. As if on autopilot Grillby accepted, finding himself staring down at the little life before him. Sans, as if sensing the weight of that gaze focused. Tiny pinpricks of light glowed in the small skeleton’s sockets. Slowly, both Monsters watched as a smile alighted Sans’ face. It sat right on the child’s face, like a hug or a healthy Soul. 

 

Something in Grillby quivered. He looked at Gaster, inhaling as the skeleton lifted his hole-marked hand. Grillby seemed to realise then, what had been done. He exhaled sharply, and abruptly drew closer. Standing forehead to forehead, the two looked down at Sans. The baby looked back up at them, sucking on a finger knuckle speculatively. Their stare seemed almost inquisitive. 

“People are going to ask questions.” Grillby murmured finally, something in his shoulders slumped. He seemed resolved, and that alone made relief sing through Gaster’s bones. Resolution, meant that there was no question in Grillby’s mind about keeping the child. 

 

_ People do little else.  _

He signed. Grillby’s flame crackled in agreement, its colour slowly returning to its normal, golden hue. It was a sense of comfort, to know that Gaster had earned the Monster’s trust. He practically glowed with the feeling. 

 

Grillby rocked Sans in his arms, his gaze flicking to the spare room upstairs. 

“He’ll need a nursery,” He said after a long pause, his mind already whirring with possibilities. “Any preferences for paint colour?” 

Gaster considered for a moment, thinking of the blue colour he’d glimpsed in his son’s Soul.

“Blue?” He requested, and smiled when Grillby nodded. 

“Blue it is, should the Gift Shop have it.” 

Between them, Sans made a soft sound. It was a plaintive noise, one that quickly morphed into an irritated whine. The whine grew, becoming the beginnings of a howl. Grillby winced. “And some baby food, if they have it. What do Skeleton Monsters even eat as children?” He sounded vaguely panicked, the weight of unexpected parenthood falling abruptly onto his shoulders. 

Gaster considered his own childhood. 

_ Milk.  _

He signed solemnly. Grillby stared at him, long and hard. 

“If that. Was a bloody  _ pun… _ ”

Gaster grinned.

 

****

That night they slept with Sans between them, tucked safe in an old, purple blanket Gaster had found in their closet. His son slept well after being fed, though the bunny at the Gift Shop had questioned the late night purchase of powdered milk. Gaster had mumbled some sort of feeble excuse, claiming it to be an ‘experiment’. In a way, he supposed he was. It made him uncomfortable to think of Sans in that way, though. Already he found that his Soul had nothing but love for the small life beside him, and he lay awake that night marvelling at the novelty of it. The baby before him was a miracle, a miracle  _ he  _ had brought to life. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Gaster felt  _ hope  _ rising up in him. It made him buoyant, so that he kissed Grillby’s cheek in the dark, despite the fact that the flame was sound asleep. He then pressed a kiss to Sans’ skull, revelling in the ability to do so. 

 

Perhaps Chara and Asriel would be successful. Perhaps tonight was a night for miracles. Perhaps he was a fool, but he thought that for once, he was allowed to be. Gaster closed his eye sockets with a lightness in his chest that felt nearly like Magic. 

 

When he would wake, the Underground would never be the same. 

 

****

News in the Underground had a habit of spreading like wildfire. One person was told a piece of information, and that person told two people, and those people three more. It resulted in the entire kingdom knowing, despite the fact that the king had yet to address anyone officially. 

 

Chara and Asriel were dead. How, it wasn’t certain, but it was known that the king’s treasured flowers were now sticky with dust from the king’s own children. Gaster heard the news and felt sickness churn in his stomach, souring at the back of his mouth. He had been foolish for hoping for a miracle. He didn’t say this to the bunny Monster that had told him the news, but the thought lurked in the back of his mind. He thanked her for his morning purchase- two cinnamon bunnies. She waved him off, her expression mournful for the future. 

 

That mood carried with Gaster as he made his way back to his house, watching the people of Snowdin begin to stir and wake. There was a heaviness amongst those who were aware, a look in their eyes as they stared up at the impenetrable stone ceiling above them. Once it hadn’t seemed so solid, or so confining. Now he stared up, seeing what everyone else was seeing once again. Their cage. 

 

He kept his head ducked down, staring instead at the snow in his path until he came back to his front door. Gaster tucked himself inside, but not before he heard the beginnings of an announcement being made by part of the Royal Guard at town centre. 

_ “Hear all! I come with grave news!...”  _

Gaster shut the door firmly. Grimly, he had the feeling that he would not have work today. 

 

Grillby was also a habitually early riser. The army, and then being a cook had predisposed him towards waking before the masses. Whether it was to march or to prep food, the flame usually didn’t sleep past eight. It was no surprise to Gaster when he heard stirring from upstairs. What surprised him more was the small companion Grillby had tucked against his hip as he came downstairs. Sans, it appeared, was not an early riser. The small skeleton was tucked against Grillby’s chest, bundled tightly against the early morning air. Tiny snores emanated from them, making them sound a bit like a very cute lawnmower. 

 

“What’s going on out there?” Grillby commented upon hearing the muffled shouting from outside. He sleepily peered at Gaster, humming in appreciation when the skeleton wordlessly flicked on the coffee maker. 

“A nightmare.” The skeleton murmured darkly. He wordlessly approached his partner, delivering the bad news under his breath. With every word, Grillby’s flame began to gutter in despair. 

 

“No, not Asriel… He was… he was our hope!” It was a statement that rang painfully true. To most Monsters, the prince had been a symbol of the new generation. He had been a beacon, a promise of light returning to the underground. Without him, both Grillby and Gaster knew the kind of depression that would fall amongst Monsters. Chara would only become a catalyst, well-loved despite their origins. 

“There’s more,” Gaster murmured, though he was reluctant to speak of ill things. His gaze was trained to Sans’s skull, unnaturally rounded from the Determination. Fear clung to Gaster like a second skin, something that he was rapidly growing used to wearing. “Sans… As you can probably t-tell, he might run into c-c-complications, in the future.” 

Grillby’s face hardened in such a way that made a small glimmer of relief glow inside of Gaster. He watched, admiring as the flame clutched the baby closer to his chest. Already it seemed, Grillby was beginning to grow attached. 

“Let problems come,” he growled “He’s ours, and if he’s anything like you he’ll be stubborn enough to get through them.” 

 

“It’s not that s-simple, I’m afraid.” Gaster motioned for the child, holding him as Grillby fished out two mugs for coffee. The flame poured them each a cup, the warmth steaming from them like a physical manifestation of luck. Gaster gazed down at Sans, who was only just starting to fuss. The small skeleton’s body looked nothing like his own, more like the idea of a skeleton drawn by someone who’d never actually seen one. It looked painful to Gaster, seeing the soft roundness of his child’s skull, the moulded edges of his limbs. He wondered if his child was in pain. It didn’t seem like it, but how could one tell with infants? Lost in the mire of his own self-doubts, Gaster felt dread beginning to seep into his bones. The beginnings of a low panic-attack began to tighten in his chest. “M-my experiments… what if he g-grows up badly? What if I’ve made a m-mistake?”

 

Grillby’s voice was soft. 

“You haven’t, and you  _ won’t.  _ Dings,  _ look  _ at yourself.” He gestured at Gaster, pointing out how gently he was holding Sans. The flame’s expression was kind. “You’re a natural already.” 

“Liar.”

“Only in the kindest of ways.” Grillby smiled, causing Gaster to utter a sigh. He looked again at Sans, searching for any kind of discomfort. His son seemed far more focused on wriggling out of his blanket to grope for his Talus. 

“A-alright, then.” If he was to be a father, Gaster fully intended to be a good one. The town of Snowdin would be in chaos for a while, and as much as he was grieved it provided time. “We’ll need a story, for how Sans came to us.” 

Grillby shrugged, sipping his coffee. He considered for a moment, his head tilted in thought. Finally, he snapped his fingers with an idea. 

“I’ve got it. Lie.” 

 

Gaster levelled his partner with a deadpan expression. Cradling Sans in one hand, he signed as best as he could with one hand. His sarcasm was palpable

_ I don’t know what I’d do without you.  _

 

****

The next few weeks in the underground couldn’t be described any other way but  _ grim.  _ For a while, Monsters debated whether or not they would see the king and queen emerge from their castle again. Worry stirred in everyone, and Gaster felt keenly the guilt that had begun to crawl along his back. He distracted himself the only way he could, busying his mind with the never-ending task of looking after a newborn. 

 

He found new respect for his mother during that time. Sans was by no means a difficult baby to care for, but it seemed to both the new parents that he had a propensity for getting himself into trouble. Gaster was sure that he couldn’t walk, but when he turned from Sans even for the briefest of instances, he often found his son to have moved to a completely different location. He thought he was going crazy, the first few times it happened. He’d place Sans on the couch, intending to get the wriggly skeleton a blanket. Gaster would get to the cupboard, but by the time he’d turn to face Sans once more, his child was inevitably sitting on the kitchen counter. It was a mystery, one that Grillby could admit to witnessing himself. The flame sheepishly admitted that he had thought at first it was simply his own poor vision. 

 

“I really should get glasses…The little bugger’s too young to walk, right?” The flame had sighed ruefully, rubbing at his face like he could wipe away his own exhaustion. 

Gaster had other theories, the foremost being Magic. Skeleton Monsters were known for gaining abilities early, though he also suspected not quite  _ this  _ early. With the Determination in Sans’ Soul, Gaster had the sneaking suspicion that his son was merely using some form of abilities to give them the slip. But what? It was nothing to do with Gaster’s own powers, which was fascinating unto itself. He couldn’t recall his siblings having the ability to move that fast, either. 

  
  


Sans, completely unaware of his parents’ worries, seemed to treat it like a game. He’d squeal in wordless glee at having been found, clapping his hands and reaching for either of his parents upon gaining their attention. Gaster couldn’t recall any of his siblings having this kind of ability, and he himself didn’t possess anything like it. It confused him, and so he treated it like he would anything else that would leave him dumbfound.

He began to do research. 

 

The Libarby held lots of information on the types of Magic that manifested with different Souls, and it wasn’t long before Gaster began to narrow down a likely culprit. He checked the book out that provided an answer, running back home to tell Grillby. Grabbing his partner's arm, the skeleton pointed to a section regarding dark blue-coloured Souls. 

“It’s c-called  _ Gravitokinesis,  _ or  _ Gyrok-kinesis.  _ He’s not  _ walking,  _ Grillby! Our son is  _ floating! _ ” Gaster breathed the hypothesis like a prayer, his eyes alight with fascination. “I can’t p-prove it, but it makes sense!” 

Grillby peered at the book thoughtfully, turning to frown at his son. Sans was currently seated in a high chair they had scavenged from the dump. After sanitizing it, it turned out to be a faded lime green. The baby was engrossed in crumpled up paper that Grillby had found, tearing it apart joyfully between shrieks of glee. A ball of paper fell to the floor, making Sans babble down at it in wordless irritation. Grillby seemed to be delicately searching for a way to say something. 

“Dings, I love our son… But he doesn’t exactly act like a Magical pro? Is it possible you’re just-” He winced a little at his own phrasing “-Overthinking things?”

 

Gaster straightened, puffing slightly like a peacock with fragile pride. Grillby looked at him in exasperation.

“I’m not saying he’s not  _ clever,  _ Dings-”

_ You implied it. _

“That’s not what I  _ meant-” _

Gaster glared, so that Grillby sighed and cut off whatever else he was about to say to throw his hands up into the air. He scowled. “He’s a  _ baby,  _ Dings! He doesn’t have to be an einstein just because he’s related to you!” 

“T-technically, he’s a  _ piece  _ of me.” Gaster argued, lifting his hand so that Grillby could see the hole in it. The flame made a low growl of protest. 

“He’s  _ not  _ you though! He’s a baby!” 

 

Gaster muttered something offensive in Wingdings. Grillby’s expression darkened, unable to understand but recognising the tone. 

“Now, look-” the flame began, but seemed to cut off as he saw something in the corner of his eye. He straightened, ignoring whatever it was Gaster tried to respond with. His expression was eerily focused, so that Gaster felt compelled to turn. He signed in irritation, already halfheartedly turning to follow his partner’s gaze.

_ What are you staring at? If this is a distraction- _

 

What he saw stopped him, froze the skeleton so that he was looking on in shock. 

Sans was hovering out of his high chair, suspended seemingly in mid air. Baby noises emitted from him, mindless chattering as he drifted towards the fallen paper ball. Gaster watched, motionless as his son flitted to the floor, scooping the paper up in tiny hands. Sans floated until he could sit comfortably on the floorboards, entertaining himself by chattering away to the piece of paper. The white pinpricks of his eyes met his parent’s, and he laughed agreeably, holding the piece of paper out to them as an offering. 

 

Grillby swore, a continuous stream that had no end until Gaster hissed. 

_ “Not in front of the baby.”  _

Both of them took a moment to collect themselves. In the end, Gaster managed it first. He signed shakily, his words small but proud. 

_ I guess that settles it, then.  _

“My son can float.” Was Grillby’s eloquently dumbfounded reply. After a moment, he said it more surely. “My son… can  _ float. _ ”

 

Seeming to sense that he was the topic of conversation, Sans’ focused shifted away from the ball of paper. Babbling agreeably, he rolled onto his hands and knees. The crawling had  _ seemed  _ like an early development, but Gaster paid extra attention. He inhaled as he realised that a faint blue glow was hovering around his child’s body, glowing at the edges of his red onesie. 

_ Fascinating. _

He signed, his eyes all but shining with wonder. Grillby caught that gaze, feeling a sinking resignation. He knelt to clap his hands, catching Sans’ attention. Sans took to it well, laughing and crawling his way forward until Grillby could scoop him up in his arms. 

“Our baby can  _ float.” _ The flame muttered, this time in despair. His thoughts were on all the ways he’d have to baby-proof the house. 

 

Gaster, caught up in the possibilities as he was, answered without a trace of sarcasm. 

_ Isn’t it wonderful? _


End file.
